TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass
by Syntyche
Summary: A rewrite of the latter half of TPM. Qui-Gon's grand podrace plan fails. Obi-Wan Kenobi steps into the gap to fulfill his Master's debt, but the young Jedi's mettle is about to be severely tested when he gets more than he or Qui-Gon bargained for...
1. whenever you gamble, eventually you lose

**Title:** TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

**Author**: Syntyche

**Archive**: Ask me first, just so I know where it's going.

**Rating**: A strong T. Warnings where needed; Obi gets into a spot of trouble here and there. And there's language, too, but nothing major. Non-slash. It's also kinda cheesy, but whatever. The whole podrace thing was the personification of cheesy, so allow me my dream sequences and clichés, lol.

**Disclaimer**: Star Wars and everything recognizably so belongs to George Lucas; the story is mine. I play with Obi because I love him, but I'm not making any money off this little trip into a galaxy far, far away.

**Obi-torture with resultant Qui-angst**: Heavy. I think no tissue warnings, though.

**Revised**: 08/06 … 08/09 ... holy hell ... what happened to the last seven years? Revised _**again**_ 06/11, just cleaned it up and added the scene breaks that for some reason keep disappearing.

**Synopsis:** What if Qui-Gon's grand podrace plan _**did**_ fail? Obi-Wan steps into the gap to fulfill his Master's debt, but the young Jedi's mettle is about to be severely tested when he gets more than he or Qui-Gon bargained for …

OOOOOOOOOO

prologue: whenever you gamble, eventually you lose

Against the brilliant reddish backdrop of Tatooine's setting suns, a lone man stood hunched over in the now empty arena. The stands had been duly vacated by cheering, growling, and/or devastated fans hours ago, and now he was the only one left in the huge stone structure as the bloody suns slowly sank beneath the desertscape.

His expression was slack and dull, and totally devoid of hope; from one so intricately, so joyously and so exuberantly embracing of and embraced by the Living Force, the total lack of energy – of _**life**_ – from the man was utterly disconcerting.

The evening desert winds teased at long strands of silver-flecked mahogany hair as hooded ice blue eyes surveyed the horizon listlessly. It truly was a beautiful sunset, all reds and purples and greys that gently encroached upon blues as it receded to make way for the black of night, and though the man himself had no eyes this evening for such splendor, he knew with little doubt one who would, one who always did: it was a sunset that he was sure his apprentice would be watching from a solitary place some distance away in the queen's wounded ship.

Qui-Gon Jinn smiled at the thought. His world may have just encountered a sudden, incredulously unbelievable upheaval, but there were yet some things he was certain of. His apprentice was one of them.

Qui-Gon's small smile faded as unwanted but necessary thoughts intruded into his consciousness. He must fulfill his initial duty and find some way to deliver the queen and her retinue safely to Coruscant …

… but his word could not be broken, the wager could not go unfulfilled. Watto would need to be reimbursed.

The tall Jedi's head bowed under the incredible weight of his failure. He had risked everything on Anakin winning the podrace, and the boy had lost. Tomorrow he would return to the ship and report the news to the queen, but for tonight, he simply stood, alone, in the empty arena and watched the stars come out.

_**That night, in the desert, not too far away …**_

Breathing hard, Obi-Wan Kenobi bolted awake into a sitting position, the warm blankets pooling around his narrow waist as he braced himself upright with his hands. Beads of sweat that chilled rapidly in the cool, cycled air of his assigned quarters slid down his strong jawline and across his chest, and his wide blue-grey eyes surveyed the room with the rapidity of someone frightened nearly out of their mind without really knowing the reason why.

_It was all a dream,_ he soothed himself warily, trying to slow the rush of breath escaping his heaving chest, _it was only a dream, Kenobi. Qui-Gon's here. Qui-Gon's fine._

Obi-Wan was startled to find that he was trembling and drew his legs up to his chest, rocking gently and resting his weary head on his knees.

_It was a nightmare. It was only a dream,_ he repeated to himself as he rocked slowly, calming his breathing. _Everything's fine._ _You're fine, Qui-Gon's fine – even Jar-Jar's fine. Everybody's fine. Qui-Gon's plan will have worked. It __**had**__ to have worked. _

And Obi-Wan had to believe that Qui-Gon's plan had worked, that the slave boy had won the race; otherwise, the images that had startled Obi-Wan into awareness _**weren't**_ really a nightmare … and he was in trouble.

Obi-Wan knew he wouldn't sleep any more this night and that even trying was pointless. He kicked off the covers and pulled on his breeches, and then stretched, a luxurious slow stretch that felt exquisite to his cramped frame. He immediately felt better though the images that had assailed him in his nightmares continued to haunt his mind.

_Why did I choose Tatooine?_

The words passed through his mind for what he was sure was the millionth time since he'd sat in that damned chair at that damned desk and uttered the simple phrase that had damned him:

"'Here, Master: Tatooine.'"

Damn.

He was angry, and he really had no one to blame but himself. And Qui-Gon, for listening to him.

Obi-Wan slid his arms into his under tunic and with a thought toward the indigenous residents of Tatooine – and the ogle-eyed handmaidens that seemed to be prowling around every corner of this too-small vessel, no matter what the hour – he slung his belt with attached lightsaber over his shoulder before grabbing his robe. Suddenly the interior of the Nubian ship was making him very claustrophobic. And … he had to say it …

"I have a bad feeling about this," he murmured to the empty cabin.

OOOOOOOOOO


	2. so much for trying, it's time to move on

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter one: so much for trying, it's time to move on

Obi-Wan's bad feeling continued throughout his nightlong attempt at meditation, and when he finally gave up and stumbled back inside the ship feeling like he'd been flattened by one of the local banthas, the suns' rays were rippling across the desert with the promise of another scorcher of a day. Obi-Wan smiled slightly, warily pleased by the warmth that drove the chill of the night from his fatigued, sore body and soothed his aching muscles.

_I need a shower_, he thought muzzily, and thumbed at his chin experimentally. _And a shave._ He was supremely grateful that no one else appeared to be awake yet – after all, they could all rest safe in the knowledge that he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, had been left guarding the ship _in the middle of the desert with no one around for kilometers, _he thought snarkily - for the sublime reason that the queen's handmaidens were all too willing and eager to help him with anything he might need, and he was pretty certain that he would be able to figure out how to take a shower by himself.

At least Qui-Gon had taken that one handmaiden with him. _**She**_ was just a little too forward for Obi-Wan's tastes, and personally he thought just a bit young to be pinching Jedi Padawans when she thought they weren't looking.

Obi-Wan bypassed the door to the tiny quarters he'd been assigned but stopped short as he realized that he had absolutely nothing with him besides the clothes on his back. His travel bag had been aboard the now obliterated Republic vessel that had brought him and Qui-Gon to Naboo.

Obi-Wan sighed. Not only did he feel he'd been trampled by a bantha; another day in this desert without clean clothing and he'd start to smell like one, too.

"Jedi Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan turned around slowly. _I guess I'm not the only one up, after all. _

"Your Highness," he replied politely, wishing, oddly, that he weren't quite so scruffy looking at the moment, but the queen smiled, a sweet, gentle smile, and without her customary face makeup Obi-Wan thought she looked far more regal and lovely than she had appeared before, sporting that ridiculous plumage. This morning she was clad in robes not unlike those he'd seen her handmaidens wear, and while she seemed slightly embarrassed to be so scaled down in appearance, Obi-Wan reflected that she also appeared more at in ease in her simple earth-toned robes.

"Is there something I can assist you with, Jedi Kenobi?" she asked, and Obi-Wan noted with pleased gratitude that she was genuinely offering her help without any hint of the salaciousness he'd detected in her handmaidens; as if she'd picked up on his thought, however, she flashed him a truly lecherous smirk.

Obi-Wan blinked in mild concern. He'd never been good at dissuading amorous royalty; too many protocols that were too easy to overstep. He'd always had to depend on Qui-Gon to disentangle him from those particular messes.

At his suddenly stricken look, the queen's coy smile wobbled and dissolved into an honest grin, and she dropped her head into the palm of her upraised hand with a small laugh.

"I apologize," she said, shaking her head as her pale lips curved back into their gentle smile. "It's very early, and I couldn't help it."

_Huh?_ Obi-Wan thought. He was still trying to process whether or not she was about to attack him. The queen's bright eyes secured his, and it was with relief that he read only warmth and humor in their dark depths.

"I know that you've had a trying time with all of us – and some of us in particular – and I couldn't help but tease you when you presented the opportunity. I do apologize."

Obi-Wan shook his head and even offered a half-smile of his own. "That's quite all right, Your Highness." He paused and considered briefly. He really, _**really**_ needed to get cleaned up, but he was a little embarrassed to ask the queen, of all people, for help.

On the other hand, everything on the vessel really belonged to her anyway – or at least the taxpayers of Naboo.

"Actually," he decided quickly, "I would appreciate a bit of help, if it's not too much trouble." He briefly explained his dilemma, and was extremely gratified when she not only directed him to one of the vessel's showering facilities, but also to the storage portion of the ship where he collected soap, shampoo, and shaving supplies. He thanked her profusely and took his leave, returning to the shower facilities. Gingerly he stripped out of his dust-caked clothing and dumped them into the cycler unit installed in the wall.

The hot shower felt absolutely wonderful to his tired body, and he was grateful to the queen for her thoughtfulness and thanked the Force that there were actually hot water showers installed on the Nubian vessel. Obi-Wan had always disliked being cold and cold showers were second on his list of Hated Things, right beneath Qui-Gon's dubious idea of a vacation which, for some reason unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, included outdoors and tent camping and "getting back to nature, Padawan!" which automatically ruled the entire trip out as a vacation for Obi-Wan, who – unless it was absolutely necessary – refused to eat anything off of a stick unless it was a toasted marshmallow. So undignified.

The thought made Obi-Wan smile and as his body slowly relaxed he began humming softly, an old, quiet melody in his native language – until he caught himself and promptly ceased.

_None of that_, he reprimanded himself sternly. _That was for another time, and a far different place. Jedi do not dwell in the past._

When he finally felt clean and a little better, Obi-Wan toweled off and surveyed his reflection in the mirror before picking through his new accessories to locate his razor. He shaved quickly and then retrieved a comb, dragging it through his short hair. He tied off the small ponytail and set to work on his braid, threading through the long strands with his slim fingers and weaving them deftly with the skill of many years of practice.

A skill he would soon no longer need.

Obi-Wan brushed the melancholy thought aside as soon as it developed. It was difficult to believe that soon he would no longer be Qui-Gon's Padawan, but maybe that was for the better. Their relationship, it seemed to him, grew more and more fragile with each passing day. It wasn't that Obi-Wan didn't love his master, but it was all in that he'd always known his place by Qui-Gon's side was only temporary, and now that time was coming to a close.

Obi-Wan scrubbed at his eyes with a weary hand as he fastened a yellow band into his braiding.

He'd wanted to believe that his nightmares were just that – dreams with no bearing on reality, and until they'd landed on Tatooine he'd almost convinced himself that that was true. But once the queen's vessel had been damaged by the Trade Federation's laser cannons, everything fell into place just as it had been in his dreams, and even as he knew he would, he'd damned himself by uttering the name of a planet they would have otherwise passed by.

With Qui-Gon's fateful meeting with the boy – Anakin – and the subsequent attachment between the two, Obi-Wan now held a very tenuous position – or to be quite frank: he was in the way. He had better well be ready for his Trials, otherwise he would fail in his quest to become a Jedi Knight. No one would take on a Padawan his age, and Obi-Wan's lifelong dream would die a quiet death in the shadows.

Despite himself and his training, Obi-Wan was angry. Angry at Qui-Gon for his attachment to Anakin, and angrier with himself for not being strong enough to … to take it like a Jedi Knight.

Which was why, regardless of all his years of training, he didn't deserve to be a Knight.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly. Which was why he wouldn't _**be**_ a Jedi Knight.

_Sometimes_, Obi-Wan thought, surveying his red band for a moment and considering its symbolization before using it to tie off his plait with a sharp yank, _being prescient really sucks._

OOOOOOOOOO

Qui-Gon, Padmé, and Jar-Jar Binks had returned from the Skywalker hovel that evening and the weary Jedi Master had tersely informed the queen and Obi-Wan of this latest disaster in what seemed like a very long line of troubles that had begun the moment he and Obi-Wan had stepped aboard the Trade Federation vessel orbiting Naboo. The queen took it calmly, stilling the irate Padmé with a pointed look. Qui-Gon was grateful for the queen's intervention; although he had sensed the young handmaiden's affectionate regard for Anakin, Padmé had been quite vocal about the lost wager once the devastated boy was out of earshot. Qui-Gon had seen to Anakin as best he could: the boy was an integral part of his future, he was certain - but how exactly, he wasn't sure. However, he had reassured the child as gently as possible and in no uncertain terms that what had happened wasn't Anakin's fault; it was simply the will of the Force.

What they would do now, Qui-Gon had no idea.

Obi-Wan had been uncharacteristically quiet since Qui-Gon had broken the news of Anakin's loss to the Dug racer, Sebulba, and the Jedi Master was unsure how to broach the newly-opened rift between he and Obi-Wan. He knew that Obi-Wan was angry; the Padawan had disapproved of Qui-Gon's risky plan from the very beginning and was now understandably tense with wondering what options they could possibly have left to them.

Qui-Gon exhaled slowly, pinching the slightly humped bridge of his nose. What could he say? Where had he first gone wrong? He'd felt the call of the Force so strongly and was so sure he'd followed the path he'd been urged to take, but everything seemed to have gone horribly, terribly wrong, and he could think of no solution to the problem they were currently posed with. They were beyond penniless now, and he had placed them in the regrettable position of forfeiting the queen's vessel. The Force that had pushed him so fervently into wagering their future on a young boy was suddenly silent to him, and he could see no way of reconciling the situation within the time frame they needed to get the young queen to Coruscant.

Still, Qui-Gon refused to believe he'd been led astray; for now, the only thing he could do was wait for the call of the Force.

_And I must see to Obi-Wan_.

His apprentice stood alone outside the ship, silent as the night around him, and Qui-Gon quietly joined him. Away from prying ears he waited for the storm to come, but Obi-Wan merely continued to stare at the shifting desert sands as the midnight moons glittered overhead. It would be a shame to leave the wide-open space of Tatooine, Qui-Gon knew, but he suspected that Obi-Wan was eager to return to the thriving urbanity of Coruscant and the city-planet's tall towers and always-bustling busyness.

Though Obi-Wan's steady, veiled gaze did not betray any of the tumultuous emotions his Master knew were roiling beneath the surface, Qui-Gon could feel unspoken accusation pulsing through the bond they shared, and had felt it since he had returned to the ship.

_What if this plan fails? We could be stuck here for a very __**long**__ time._

"Obi-Wan?" he finally pressed.

A slight tremor shook the well-muscled frame as Qui-Gon's prompt broke the still night air, but Obi-Wan kept a calm façade even though his eyes had greyed into the color of cold steel. His voice, when he finally spoke, had a cold timbre inflected over the normally dulcet tones.

"Master?"

"Obi-Wan … " Words seemed so inadequate, but he had to stand by his earlier conviction. "I'm here to hear your opinion, if you've anything to say, _**Padawan**_." He didn't mean to emphasize Obi-Wan's status, but he couldn't help the slight twinge of anger at his apprentice's silent brooding.

And Obi-Wan, of course, picked up on his master's disapproval. The young Jedi's lashes dropped and he turned away fractionally, as if he were struggling to keep from lashing out at his master.

_What if it's true, and the people are dying?_

"We're running out of time." The words were softly spoken, released on the breath of a sigh.

"I know, Obi-Wan."

"What shall we do, Master?"

"That, I don't know." Qui-Gon passed a tired hand over his eyes. "I didn't see that we had any other choice, Obi-Wan."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," Obi-Wan agreed quietly, but his narrowed eyes glinted in the moonlight.

"And what would you have had me do, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Anything other than what you did, perhaps? Gambling, Master – as if _**that**_ sets an example for the young boy you wagered on and encouraged to take such a foolish, foolhardy chance with his life and our meager resources."

Qui-Gon had known Obi-Wan long enough to sense that the storm was finally approaching, and he waited patiently while it built in intensity as Obi-Wan's frustrations finally unleashed themselves in a torrent of words laced with exasperation and confusion.

"We were _**supposed**_ to be finding a way off this planet back to Coruscant – _**not**_ picking out slaves to place wagers on in the _**hope**_ that they'd win some silly, stupid race! There _**must**_ have been another way, Qui-Gon – "

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon's voice was severe and his apprentice's outburst ceased immediately though the fire in his eyes did not. "You will _**not**_ refer to Anakin in such terms again. He is more than just a slave child; you tested his midichlorian count yourself! I will not tolerate disrespectful behavior from you; am I understood?"

During his outburst, Obi-Wan had turned fully away from Qui-Gon and now the Jedi Master watched the broad, robed shoulders of his apprentice slump as the young man surveyed the outstretched desert. He didn't speak, though, and Qui-Gon wanted to make sure his message had been received and would be obeyed.

"Am I understood, Padawan?" he repeated, more sternly this time.

Obi-Wan's reply, when it came, was defeated. "Yes, Master. Understood perfectly."

Qui-Gon nodded shortly, suddenly weary beyond his resources. He needed to rest, and meditate. "Good." His burst of anger bled away slowly. Knowing he had been sharp with his sensitive Padawan and wanting to make amends, Qui-Gon lifted a hand to squeeze Obi-Wan's shoulder but froze midway through the gesture without quite knowing why. Shaking his head, he dropped his hand. "Good night, Obi-Wan."

"Good night, Master," Obi-Wan replied automatically. He turned to watch silently as his master disappeared into the belly of the ship, but made no move to follow.

There seemed no reason why he should.

OOOOOOOOOO


	3. not only back, not only numb

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter two: not only back, not only numb

Early the next morning, after another sleepless night and a quick hop through the fresher so that he looked at least semi-presentable, Obi-Wan silently left the Nubian vessel and began the trek toward the little settlement of Mos Espa. He had a vague idea of where he was going but only that; evidently there were some things about his near future that the Force was reluctant to show him. The thought was distinctly unsettling to Obi-Wan.

With the queen's kind leave, the day before he had again rummaged through the ship's storage to find appropriate clothing for the trip into Mos Espa. Now as he set out, he cut a striking picture against the sky and sand of Tatooine: forgoing one of the concealing ponchos that his Master had earlier opted for, he'd chosen black breeches and a simple white tunic that hung to his mid-thigh and obscured his belt, which he'd loosened to ride about his hips. His lightsaber remained within easy reach, hanging in its familiar loop and covered by his tunic.

The sun set off the copper in his short ginger hair and seemed to reside in his bright eyes; he knew that he looked tired, but that couldn't be helped even with the minor usage of the energy capsules a Jedi always carried. His sleepless nights were beginning to take a haggard toll on his body that was reflected in his drawn face.

Obi-Wan had made certain to leave the ship before anyone else had awoken – even the young queen – but his arrival at the dusty city was well timed: many merchants were just opening up their shops for the day and the streets were beginning to fill with a vast array of lifeforms going about their business. He'd been to many, many worlds throughout his apprenticeship to Qui-Gon, but each planet had its own uniqueness. Tatooine was no exception, but Obi-Wan quickly found that the Outer Rim planet was different in a discomforting way, almost Coruscantish in the cynicism and gruffness with which the inhabitants moved through the little settlement and conducted their business and saw their purposes met.

Obi-Wan had a purpose here as well: he would seek out young Skywalker and also the dealer to whom he belonged. He'd spoken with the handmaiden who had accompanied Qui-Gon to Mos Espa just after the trio had returned from the Skywalkers' hovel, and while she'd had a glint of suspicion in her dark eyes, Padmé was still angry with Qui-Gon for the failed wager and had guardedly shared with Obi-Wan the information he'd requested. Jar-Jar Binks also – without any trepidation or hesitation in the slightest – was eager to fill in any gaps in Padmé's story. Consequently, Obi-Wan had a pretty good idea of where he was going and how Qui-Gon had dealt with Watto.

The Padawan was admittedly curious as to why Qui-Gon would have tried only one junk dealer before believing that no Republic help could be gathered on this Outer Rim planet, but through long nights of meditation and sifting through the tersely-worded information he had garnered from his Master's infrequent and brief comm calls, Obi-Wan could only presume that Qui-Gon had in this matter felt the call of the Force so strongly that he could choose no other path and had faithfully followed the sequence of events that transpired, domino-effect, from his first meeting with Anakin Skywalker until the devastating loss in the podrace. And now it was Obi-Wan's turn to act, though every part of his being decried the plan he had chosen.

Sighing slightly, Obi-Wan once again focused on pushing doubt and worry from his mind as he closed his eyes and allowed the suns to send their glorious warmth soaking into his skin. After days of the cycled air inside the queen's ship, to be outside and walking in the morning sunlight was a great gift, gratefully accepted as it warmed golden skin and almost drove the frisson of chill from his desolate heart.

But his trepidation could not be fully abated.

He would do his duty. He could do no less.

The junk dealer whom he sought operated just within the borders of Mos Espa, and Obi-Wan's elegant stride stirred up clouds of sand beneath his boots as he traversed the street and ducked warily inside the murky shop. A chime sounded somewhere in the recesses of the store at his entrance, and Obi-Wan paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the absence of light, shuddering as the cool air leached the fleeting warmth from his body.

"Hi," he was greeted in Basic, but it was small and subdued, and Obi-Wan had to glance around the cluttered shop for a moment before he located the source of the voice, a young boy with a dirty face and a flop of sandy hair. Though Obi-Wan couldn't explain the feeling, a sudden sense of dread knifed through him as he surveyed the boy who, for all the worlds, looked like he wouldn't harm a denebian fly. Confused, the young Jedi tamped down his foreboding and instead opened his mouth to introduce himself. He was interrupted, however, by a frantic beating of wings and suddenly he stood face to face with a hovering, winged blue creature who reminded, him, oddly, of a faint childhood memory of Qui-Gon's grandfather.

Ignoring the boy for the moment, Obi-Wan took a stab in the dark. "Watto?" he guessed correctly, and the creature's eyes narrowed as he took in the new arrival.

"Yes? What do you want?" His voice was oddly grating, and his hands twitched involuntarily as he hovered at Obi-Wan's eye level.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," the Padawan offered, eyes glinting as he steeled himself for what he was about to do, "and I'd like to speak with you," and with a glance toward the boy he added, lower, "_**privately**_ about a wager you made … "

OOOOOOOOOO

Delian Ani-Suru didn't usually frequent the tiny town of Mos Espa – but then, she didn't usually place bets on the Boonta Eve podraces, either, and she had most unfortunately done that very thing. Consequently, she owed her old friend Jabba the Hutt a serious sum of money. But credits were something that Delian had in large supply – mainly from betting on the Demolition games – and so while paying Jabba off pinched her pride slightly, it didn't do much damage to the considerable wealth the Corellian had managed to amass through her "business dealings."

Delian smoothed down her tan jumpsuit and tugged experimentally on the blaster at her thigh, assuring herself that she could draw it out without any trouble. Being Corellian, hereditarily her modified blaster was merely an extension of her body – much like, she assumed, a Jedi's lightsaber, though in truth she'd never met a Jedi warrior to test the theory and she and the Force had had a mutual parting a long time ago.

Paying off Jabba wasn't the only thing that had brought her to Mos Espa. Delian had flown well in the last series of Demolition races, and had spent much of her reward on a new, incredibly souped-up Z-95 Headhunter. Unfortunately, she'd been less than controlled on her initial run with it, but there was one dealer in Mos Espa who carried pretty much anything mechanical one wanted to get their hands on.

_Hmm_.

Delian had to amend her last thought as she entered Watto's shop: _not __**only**__ mechanical_, she mused with a smirk. She took a discreet moment to survey the only other patron of the shop, and discovered that words couldn't even begin to adequately describe the perfectly … luxurious … individual who stood in back lot, practically glowing under the suns' caress, haggling with Watto.

"Hi, Delian."

Reluctantly, Delian broke off her visual sampling and redirected her attention to the young boy idling listlessly behind the counter.

"Hello, Anakin." Her dusky eyes darted a glance back toward the Toydarian and his customer. "Who's with Watto?" she asked curiously.

Anakin Skywalker shrugged, his small shoulders jerking upward. "He came in this morning. I don't know who he is."

"Well," Delian murmured speculatively, her thoughts already lightyears ahead, picturing irresistibly adorable children and grandchildren, "perhaps I should find out,"

"Delian?"

The utter anguish in the boy's voice reluctantly tore the Corellian once again from her approving and very thorough perusal of the man deep in discussion with Watto. Turning, she focused carefully on the boy, his dejected appearance so far from his normal cheerful demeanor she realized that she must have been truly distracted to not have noticed it already. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"I lost the race yesterday," Anakin admitted sorrowfully, and Delian grinned in relief and chucked his chin lightly. She knew Anakin was better off than most slaves in Mos Espa, lucky enough to work in a shop he loved for a master who was less harsh than many here.

"So did I, kiddo. An unpleasantly large sum, too, if I may add." Delian leveled a serious look at the upset child. "It's nothing to worry over, Anakin," she assured calmly. "There'll be more races. Your pod's intact, and I know for a fact that Watto was betting a rather hefty share on Sebulba – who wins because he cheats, of course. So … you're alive, Watto's probably rolling in credits right now, you can race again if you want - _**and**_ you played fair." She deliberately didn't mention the Demolition games, where cheating was the only way to stay alive, much less win. "You've lost before, so what's the problem?"

Not reassured, Anakin's expression, if possible, fell even further. "Someone else was betting on me," he admitted. "Someone important, Delian – he was a Jedi."

Delian's lips twisted. "Jedi, huh? Well in that case, I wouldn't worry too much about it, kid – I'm sure his all-powerful 'Force' will find another way to get what he needs. Now … how about what I need? Watto got any reverse power couplings for a Z-95 Headhunter?"

Anakin brightened immediately. "You've got a Z-95?" he asked excitedly. "That's so wizard!" His tiny face scrunched as he thought for a moment. "Should … yeah. I can ask Watto. Just a sec – "

"Never mind," Delian lifted a hand to forestall Anakin's forward movement. Risking another glance into the occupants of the back lot, she let a slow, lopsided smile cross her face. "_**I'll**_ ask him."

There was a slight saunter to her stride as she made her way into the bright morning and advanced determinedly toward Watto. Ignoring the conversation already in progress – decorum meant blissfully little to the Corellian – she tapped the man's shoulder, grinning in delight at the flash of irritation that sprung to perfectly lovely eyes as a beautifully-spoken sentence died on his lips.

"Excuse me," Delian told the young man, before directing her attention to Watto – as difficult as it was, standing next to his delectable patron. "Watto … " She switched to a local dialect, "(I need reverse power couplings for a Z-95 Headhunter … and who's this? Does he speak Huttese?)"

Watto, looking grateful to suspend whatever negotiations he was in the midst of haggling, lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "(He's an offworlder. He's spoken Basic since he arrived.)"

Delian smiled, feeling secure that her words could not be interpreted by the offworlder. "(He's gorgeous. What's he in for? Something I could supply?)"

"Excuse me," Obi-Wan interrupted, forsaking diplomacy for the moment as he automatically translated the conversation and the direction it was taking. "I'm terribly sorry to intrude, Miss, uh – "

"Delian Ani-Suru," she supplied, and shivered delightedly when he repeated it back to her in that flawless Core World accent.

"But I have much to do and I'm in a bit of a hurry," he continued apologetically. "And," he added, blue-grey eyes sparkling with a trace a humor, "I'm sorry, but I don't think you could supply it."

Delian grinned gleefully, not ashamed in the slightest that he had indeed interpreted her earlier question. "I'm sorry too, sweetheart," she said ruefully, then added, "but don't be so sure."

OOOOOOOOOO

Obi-Wan watched absently as Watto fluttered off to locate the parts that the woman had requested, and then directed his attention to the woman herself. She was small, but not overly so and probably not very much older than he, with blond hair shortened just under her multi-pierced ears. She sported an abundance of freckles, warm but cautious brown eyes – and a heavily modified personal blaster.

Watto returned with the necessary parts and Obi-Wan offered the woman a smile as she blew him a self-satisfied kiss and turned to go, suppressing an involuntary tingle in his spine. The Force was prodding him, but he couldn't pinpoint what exactly he was meant to do. His eyes distractedly tracked her confident stride until she disappeared from sight, and then with a tired sigh, he returned to the Toydarian.

Dealing with Watto certainly wasn't the most unpleasant thing Obi-Wan had ever had to do in his young life, but as he regarded the blue creature nervously flitting about, stroking his chin as he pondered Obi-Wan's proposal, the Jedi couldn't help but wonder how it was, exactly, that Qui-Gon always managed to choose the most _**annoying**_ lifeforms to deal with – _or adopt,_ he added with a grimace, thinking of the Gungan Jar-Jar Binks. Though, he supposed, it was quite possibly Qui-Gon's penchant for pitiful strays that had led him to accept Obi-Wan himself as his Padawan-learner.

Watto was still hesitating and muttering, and Obi-Wan didn't have all day. One light eyebrow quirked. "Well?"

"I don't know … " Watto said slowly. "It could be a huge risk … "

"Watto," Obi-Wan said, impatient now because of lost time, "You won a great deal of money on the podrace – and with this deal, you stand to make a lot more. Of course, I could always take my proposal … elsewhere. Perhaps Miss Ani-Suru would be willing … " Obi-Wan wondered if he'd pushed too hard when alarm flared in the Toydarian's bulbous yellow eyes, but Watto abruptly snatched the datapad from Obi-Wan's fingers and shook it in the young Jedi's face.

"There will have to be some changes. And I need a seal … from the other party," Watto warned. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and felt carefully along the link he shared with his Master – a bond that, up until now, he'd been steadfastly ignoring in favor of the business at hand.

"He'll be here any minute," he assured, wondering why, when he should be breathing a sigh of relief that his plan had worked, was he suddenly tense and cold with dread?

He and Watto worked through the changes the Toydarian demanded and had just finished when Qui-Gon Jinn stormed through the door a few moments later, midnight eyes alighting on his calm apprentice standing with the perpetually nervous junk dealer. He looked, Obi-Wan realized, much more careworn and tired than the day before and the Padawan couldn't help but feel a stab of pity as he regarded his master. They would all, he realized, have to deal with consequences of choices made on Tatooine – and some choices being made this very moment.

"Obi-Wan?" It was a dozen questions all compacted into one word – a name.

Obi-Wan retrieved the datapad from Watto and pressed it into his Master's large hands.

"Authorize this," he requested evenly. "It'll get transport to Coruscant."

Qui-Gon's eyebrows shot up as he scanned the exorbitant sum listed, but he was so grateful that Obi-Wan – good, capable Obi-Wan – had somehow taken care of everything that without thinking, he pressed his thumb to the datapad, sealing the deal. Obi-Wan handed the pad to Watto, murmured a few words to the junk dealer, and strode from the shop, his Master trailing a few paces behind. Obi-Wan glanced over his right shoulder and waited until Qui-Gon drew even with him; there would be questions, arguments, that would follow, but for now he just sighed in weary relief that his initial job was complete.

Qui-Gon's bleak expression had lifted slightly, and it warmed the Padawan's heart. He sighed gratefully when a large hand clamped on his shoulder – a sign of a task well done. And if the personal price was a steep one, well, it could be – would be – endured, even if his solution to their problem went against a lifetime of training.

For the moment though, he could pretend that everything was all right, that he and Qui-Gon were getting along as they always should, that his Master was proud of his often inadequate Padawan. His idyllic moment, however, died when he was forced to answer his Master's next question.

"What'd you offer, Padawan? I could sell you for that much," Qui-Gon teased affectionately, with a wan smile.

Obi-Wan smiled humorlessly. "You just did."

OOOOOOOOOO


	4. i'm not crazy or anything

_Italics are flash-forward in time. _

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter three: I'm not crazy … or anything

_It had seemed so simple. Easy._

_Do this, and everything would be fine. "In exchange for specified mechanical parts for a Nubian vessel, I hereby submit the person of Obi-Wan Kenobi as recompense until full payment can be made…" A rough paraphrase, but that was about how the deal had gone._

_A weak laugh rasped through split, dry lips._

_So easy._

_So black and white._

_Truthfully, he'd almost felt the tiniest twinge of self-righteousness when he'd uttered the words, "You just did," for he'd solved the problem and saved the day._

_At least, he hoped so._

_He wasn't really sure._

_Qui-Gon Jinn hadn't come back._

_He had stopped counting the days as they passed some time ago. Now he just waited – for his master, for death, for whatever or whoever came to claim him._

_Except Marjhan._

_Force, please, not the Lady. He didn't have the strength to oppose her, but he wasn't far gone enough to ignore her, her tiny, roving, touching, stroking hands, her cooing murmurings, her cruel caresses._

_Force, please, __**please**__, not the Lady._

_From his supine position on the hard-packed dirt floor, he pulled himself into as tight a ball as possible, ignoring all other pains in the futile hope of protecting himself against the fiery agony that was to come, that always came, with the arrival of the Lady._

_He heard her enter and offered another silent entreaty for protection. He had come to hate Qui-Gon for leaving him here._

_A whisper of air and she was kneeling beside him, her dark tresses falling into his face and obscuring the already dim light. Her cold fingers touched his arm, probing, searching, walking cheerily up his bicep until she found what she was looking for. Tapping the hypo in her hand almost playfully to force the air out, she slid the needle along his vein and giggled delightedly when he shuddered._

_"Please … " His eyes were mere slits of blue, shining in the watery moonlight that barely forced its way through the barred and slatted windows of the dark, dirty outbuilding that was used as the slaves' punishment quarters. "Please don't," he whispered._

_Marjhan tsked sadly, shaking her head in mock sorrow. "But Obi's been a bad boy again. Obi needs to do better, okay, honey? Obi needs to do better," she repeated softly, cooing, mocking him in a sugary singsong tone suggestive of one reserved for an unrepentantly disobedient child. Leaning across his shaking, coiled body, she tilted his bleeding chin toward her so she could look into his eyes and savor the fear and dread reflected there. "This will make Obi be a good boy."_

_She thumbed the depressor, injecting the hypo's contents through his skin, and immediately he felt the icy sensation of the drug sliding through his system. Just before his eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness, he reached out desperately and snagged the thought he'd been holding onto before Marjhan had entered, his last remaining tie to his former life: his own voice, patiently serious, unyielding, and perfectly reasonable as he looked his former Jedi Master in the eye and dutifully sold himself into a life of hell._

_You just did._

OOOOOOOOOO

Obi-Wan smiled humorlessly. "You just did."

Qui-Gon's piercing stare, frank in its defiance of the veracity of Obi-Wan's calmly voiced statement, sheared through the young Padawan with all the command that the powerful Jedi Master could bring about. The only thing that kept Obi-Wan from backing down under that hard gaze was his utter – albeit suddenly and blindly instituted – complacency in what he had actually done, and the tiny flame of anger within him that refused to be quenched.

"What?"

Qui-Gon's voice was very, very soft and composed, but Obi-Wan knew better than to trust _**that**_ tone. "Padawan … Obi-Wan." Each word was enunciated slowly and carefully, as though Qui-Gon somehow felt that his apprentice had abruptly lost the ability to reason intelligently, "What. Did. You. Do?"

"I did," Obi-Wan replied, just as slowly and clearly, "what was necessary, _**Master **_Jinn," and if Qui-Gon's title was slightly stressed it was certainly unintentional, but the frustrations that had been running high between the two for some time were touched off by that simple phrase, by two different definitions of duty and the prices that had been proffered for each.

Qui-Gon's temper, sorely tested by the frustrations and failings of the past few days, exploded in a fury.

"Obi-Wan, what in _**hell**_ were you _**thinking**_?" he demanded hotly, finally giving in to the often resisted urge to lay a hand on his Padawan's shoulder. The grip he positioned on the strong shoulder, however, was anything but the one of comfort and pride Obi-Wan had always craved: Qui-Gon shook his Padawan harshly, snapping Obi-Wan's teeth together sharply and catching his breath in his throat. Rage kindled in the Jedi Master's eyes until he saw the pain in Obi-Wan's own and quickly he released his Padawan; spinning, he stalked back toward Watto's shop as he tried to control his shame over his loss of temper and the burning knowledge that he had just physically assaulted his Padawan.

"The deal can still be nullified," he murmured determinedly, trying very hard to ignore the winded breathing of the young man behind him.

"Just because you didn't read the fine print doesn't make it any less binding, Master," Obi-Wan interrupted frostily between deeply drawn breaths as he straightened rigidly. The wall that had been building between them suddenly doubled in size, and though in reality Obi-Wan stood only a short distance from him, Qui-Gon could almost see a wide chasm stretching and separating them on the dusty street.

"It's done," Obi-Wan continued, his sharp eyes hard and his tone cold. "Will you take what was offered to salvage what we can of this mission?"

Qui-Gon's jaw tightened grimly as he resentfully conceded the argument to his Padawan – for now. Angrily, he shifted his line of questioning, giving in to the desire to upset Obi-Wan's unflappably calm front with a pointed query.

"What about the boy, Anakin? Does your 'exchange' permit his freedom? Can I take him with me, at least?"

Before a stunned Obi-Wan could form a reply, a patter of feet from inside the shop announced arrival of Watto's young assistant, the dirty boy with an unruly mop of sandy hair that almost obscured his bright eyes. Focusing on Obi-Wan, the boy proffered a small, bound package of engine parts to the waiting Padawan with, "Here – Watto says these are the parts for your ship, sir."

Obi-Wan accepted the package with a resigned smile of thanks and wordlessly passed it on to his Master, directing Anakin's attention toward the other man waiting outside the shop.

"Qui-Gon!" Anakin exclaimed delightedly. "I didn't think I'd see you again after … after what happened." The boy drew a deep breath. "I'm really sorry about the race," he began, and immediately launched into his defense: "If Sebulba hadn't – "

Surprisingly – or perhaps not so – it was Obi-Wan who interrupted the child's apology. He tamped down the initial sting of Qui-Gon's bitter query and tried also to mask his incredulity: _**this**_ was Anakin Skywalker, this little bedraggled scruff of a child? While Obi-Wan had been instructed all his life that size nor age mattered not, somehow it seemed to him so incredibly unfair that this boy – no matter how gifted he may be – should have tried to carry their disrupted mission upon his shoulders. This little moppet of bright – and dark, Obi-Wan recalled from earlier – energy was not at all what the Padawan had come to expect from Qui-Gon's comm calls. He was too young to shoulder such a burden to make up for the faults of others.

The Padawan knelt before the boy, sinking his knee into the dusty street. "There's no need to apologize, young one. You did your best." He smiled warmly at Anakin, conveying as much calm assurance as he could muster. "Anyway, there's no cause to worry any further. Everything's been taken care of."

Anakin hesitated, unsure of this stranger and his connection to Qui-Gon. At his bewildered glance, Qui-Gon pushed aside for the moment his anger at Obi-Wan and crossed the short distance to his Padawan and Anakin.

"This is my Padawan – my apprentice, Anakin," he explained. He laid a gentle hand on Anakin's shoulder and just caught Obi-Wan's pained expression before the young Jedi hastily schooled his features into a tight smile. Qui-Gon ignored his reaction, but couldn't suppress the stab of chagrin that suffused him. He forged on, "Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Anakin's face brightened immediately as he surveyed Obi-Wan again, this time in a new light of automatic hero-worship. "Wow! You're a Jedi, too?" he asked Obi-Wan excitedly, grabbing the kneeling Jedi's hand and shaking it vigorously. "Pleased to meet you!"

Obi-Wan's reply was a fleeting grin, but there was a hint of familiar sparkle in his blue-grey eyes as he regarded Anakin's exuberance solemnly. The Jedi lifted his gaze to meet Qui-Gon's. "Master, we need to get the parts installed so you can be on your way," he prodded in a murmur.

Qui-Gon tore his attention from Anakin and nodded shortly. As Obi-Wan rose, Qui-Gon bent to look at the boy directly. "I need to leave for awhile – to Coruscant – but I'll return soon, okay, Ani?" He couldn't help but glance at his apprentice as he uttered the words, but Obi-Wan's back was turned as he scanned the horizon. "All right?"

"Okay," Anakin agreed quietly, disappointment and shame in his loss still evident on his face. "I – I'd like to see Padmé again, too, if that's all right."

The Jedi Master smiled. "We'll see, Ani. But I'll come back, I promise." Glancing again at the rigid stance of his Padawan, Qui-Gon added in a soft sigh, "I promise."

OOOOOOOOOO

Obi-Wan's white shirt was dirty and stained with grease and engine fluids, and the Padawan was mumbling, cursing, and growling in several different languages as he wrestled with installing the hyperdrive generator aboard the queen's ship. His long fingers, slick with grease, slipped on a casing as he tugged at it futilely and opened a long, thin gash across his palm.

"Damn it!"

There _**had**_ to be someone else who could do this job; Obi-Wan himself was in no mood to grapple with the stubborn generator. Gingerly he sucked on the bleeding edges of the cut as he sifted awkwardly through the toolbox that had been placed at his disposal. He picked through its contents until he found a semi-clean rag to bind his hand with and wrapped it tightly around the wound, tightening the trailing end of the knot with a frustrated yank of his teeth.

Agitated now, Obi-Wan ran through some calming exercises as he worked, but he was too wound up over the abrupt turn his life had taken. He would only be left behind for a few days, certainly, but he had just given up his freedom, his habits and routines, to a master he didn't even know, to be subsequently bound to his will.

To Obi-Wan Kenobi, it was a terrifying thought – though not, he realized with a self-placating, sardonic smirk - one that was totally foreign. He hadn't known Qui-Gon for years.

A little more work and a little more swearing and he was through, replacing the generator housing and wiping greasy fingers on his shirt. Now that his responsibilities aboard the ship were completed, he was released to fulfill his obligation to the contract he'd submitted himself to. Obi-Wan stopped by his assigned quarters to clean up and retrieve what little he had – mostly the things granted him by the queen – and quietly let himself out with a few murmured words of parting and thanks to the queen for her kindness.

He was a couple meters out from the ship when a realization stung him. He hadn't even bothered to say goodbye to his Master. They hadn't spoken on their return from Mos Espa, and he knew it would be considered disrespectful to leave without at least acknowledging the fact of his departure – if nothing else, so that Qui-Gon knew they were free to lift off.

"_What about the boy, Anakin? Does your 'exchange' permit his freedom?"_

Obi-Wan's lips twisted in a half-smile. _Sorry, Master. I'm not worth __**that**__ much._

The young Jedi considered. Simply leaving would be better than an awkward goodbye or worse, a renewed argument. Still, he couldn't help a pang of guilt. His Master really was like a father to him – albeit a distant, sometimes cold one, but Obi-Wan had for the most part adapted to a lack of verbal praise and visible affection and instead learned over time the gestures that signified his Master's approval – or displeasure, if such was the case.

An abrupt turnaround to return to the ship was halted when Obi-Wan bumped directly into his Master's broad chest. Apparently Qui-Gon had noticed his Padawan's departure and had a few words of his own to say.

"Obi-Wan, this is completely intolerable … "

But Obi-Wan wouldn't hear him – couldn't hear him. Didn't want to rehash the same argument they'd had earlier.

"Master," the Padawan strove to inject a note of calm into his voice, but for Sith's sake, he wasn't a _**child**_ any longer. "Please. It's not much, really. Just until you get the queen to Coruscant; then you can buy me back." He added with a slight, cagey grin, "if you want to."

Qui-Gon smiled at that; despite his weariness he was grateful for the tiny reprieve Obi-Wan had offered. "I don't know, young one. After this little escapade, I may just leave you here." His expression abruptly hardened as he whirled around, his staccato pacing a testimony to the depths of his agitation. "Obi-Wan, this is simply unacceptable. I won't leave you behind."

"You don't have a choice," Obi-Wan pointed out quietly. "You signed the contract, Master. A contract that _**I**_designed with the express purpose of paying off our debt and seeing the queen safely off planet."

"But, Obi-Wan … "

Qui-Gon was still struggling with the ramifications of what his Padawan had done. To willingly submit oneself to another, to give them the express authority to rule and instruct, to punish at will, to withhold things necessary to one's very survival if they deemed it so …

_Oh, Force,_ Qui-Gon realized with a shock. Maybe it really wasn't so very different at all …

He hadn't seen it so much before, but throughout the past decade he'd treated his Padawan nearly as badly and sometimes as coldly – perhaps more so because he was the one who was expected to mentor, to love, to nurture and teach this young one, Obi-Wan: kind, beautiful, precious Obi-Wan, who lived for the warmth of his Master's praise, who was grateful even for the scraps of affection his Master threw at him if it was convenient … who bore his Master's occasional wrath calmly and without censure … who was always there, a quiet, reliable presence even if Qui-Gon pushed him as far away as possible; never complaining, simply waiting, ready to do his Master's bidding.

And Qui-Gon had ignored him. Qui-Gon's knees felt weak and he almost stumbled; as it was, he stopped his pacing abruptly and stared at his Padawan with growing horror in his eyes. "Why?" he half-whispered, half-demanded of himself.

"Why?" Obi-Wan returned frostily, mistaking his Master's pained words as being addressed to him. "Because I believe in _**duty**__, _Master." His anger fleeing suddenly, Obi-Wan sighed. "I feel the Force differently than you, Master. You've always known – and rued – this. I have to follow my path, too. Leave me to do my duty."

Shaking himself from his sorrow, Qui-Gon smiled, just a little, but the sadness undercutting it pulled any mirth from the gesture. _Then I must do my duty as well and return the queen to Coruscant. There will be time for apologies later,_ he decided.

Gently, he reached out and brushed Obi-Wan's jawline with his strong fingers, letting affection shine in his eyes, and regret for any harsh words he may have uttered earlier. "My dear Obi-Wan," he said tenderly, nearly choking on the words, "You've never done anything less. I am so very proud of you, Padawan. So very proud."

Obi-Wan's ice eyes looked into his Master's and the young Jedi was startled and touched by the love and honesty he found there. It was as if years of heartache and pain had rolled away from Qui-Gon's gaze and his Master was staring at him now with pride, finally understanding. Obi-Wan had to drop his stare to hide the sudden vulnerability that crested nakedly in his eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered, feeling inadequate and exposed. To his intense surprise, Qui-Gon reached out and pulled him into a rare, quick hug.

"Be extremely careful, Obi-Wan. I'll be back very soon."

_Please don't be long,_ Obi-Wan thought.

OOOOOOOOOO

On one of the upper dunes, Darth Maul scanned the resting ship and the two figures standing outside. Jinn and Kenobi, he was certain of it, but why then was Jinn returning to the ship and leaving the apprentice? Why would Kenobi remain behind?

Maul considered briefly, charting out his next move. He would follow the queen to Coruscant; now that their vessel's hyperdrive had been restored, Maul had little chance of catching them before they reached the Senate – though there would be little need for that if the time-delay bombs the Sith apprentice had had implanted on the hull by one of his droids during the Jedi's earlier absence did its job. He would follow the vessel and be ready when the bombs blew them out of hyperspace: no sense in leaving any part of a job this sensitive to chance.

_However …_

Maul's eyes drifted back to the Jedi warriors. Obi-Wan Kenobi was well reputed as being a highly skilled, powerful Jedi – and carefully and keenly watched by Maul's own master, Lord Sidious. Perhaps, out of respect for his Master, Maul should carefully reveal Kenobi's new vulnerability to Sidious first …

… _unless_, he determined with a sharp, satisfied smile, _**he**_ could take Kenobi on as his own apprentice …

Maul was fully trained and certainly didn't need to beg at Sidious' table any longer. Kenobi could be taken. The thought of being master to the Jedi Padawan and harnessing Kenobi's ample power was … _**tantalizing**_. Invigorating. And nearly irresistible.

Maul watched as Kenobi turned his back on the queen's ship as her engines warmed, watched as he simply walked away without looking back, headed for the settlement. Maul watched him hungrily until he had disappeared from sight.

And wondered what it would be like to possess that which was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

OOOOOOOOOO


	5. nothing like a bad decision says who yo...

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter four: nothing like a bad decision / says who you are

One day down, roughly two weeks to go.

It was disconcerting, Obi-Wan mused, how things that seemed both awake and alive beneath the warmth of the sun could feel so cold and empty in the darkness. Mos Espa, bustling and busy in the daytime, had taken on a hard, cold look, and the pale stone of the shops lining the empty street shone eerily white in the clear moonlight. Obi-Wan stood in the doorway of Watto's shop, leaning against the stone jamb, boots crossed at the ankle, his meandering thoughts taking a decidedly dour turn.

It was always at night, he recognized, that doubt and uncertainty crept unfettered through his stiff façade of calm and tore at the barriers he so carefully built and maintained. It happened within the safe confines of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant; there was no reason why it shouldn't also haunt the chilly nights of Tatooine. Tonight, he was reflecting on where his relationship with his Master had soured; just when it was, exactly, that he and Qui-Gon had stopped seeing eye-to-eye and started finding more and more issues to differ on and fights to pick. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that he was totally blameless in the matter, but finding exactly where the fault lay – in either of them – wasn't something he'd really taken the time to consider. It had been much easier to simply agree to disagree and leave it at that. Even within this short trip dealing with the Trade Federation's blockade, the grounds had been rife for discord in everything from Jar-Jar Binks to Anakin Skywalker.

It shouldn't be that way, he knew. It wasn't the Padawan's place to disagree his Master, it wasn't his place to disagree with Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon had many years of knowledge and experience with which to formulate his decisions and decide the fate of them both with the course he chose; but still, Obi-Wan chafed at being treated like a child. He could disagree and oppose his Master and expend all his breath trying, but it was a rare day when even his most carefully constructed and delivered argument could sway the mind of his Master once Qui-Gon had determined a plan of action.

His Master was an individual who was very used to getting what he wanted.

Perhaps he was only chafing, Obi-Wan reasoned with some little hope, because his time to undergo his Trials must surely be near. The culmination of everything he had worked toward, trained and studied for, and firmly pushed through being rejected so many times, was close, so very close to his reach and Obi-Wan fervently wished for nothing more than to succeed his testing and achieve the rank of Knighthood. Perhaps the successful completion of his Padawan training would elevate his status in his former Master's eyes as someone worthy of being more than simply a student, something that throughout his apprenticeship had not come easy to either one of them. Qui-Gon was an intensely private person, and Obi-Wan had always striven for that one elusive, unachievable trait that he was certain he needed to be of value to his Master: perfection.

Obi-Wan stared up at the stars, suppressing a shiver as a waft of a cool desert breeze teased the hair at the back of his neck through the open collar of his loose white tunic. Perfection. How many years had he spent trying to be perfect? How many times had he ignored the natural Obi-Wan response within him and offered instead a reply he felt might be appropriate from the perfect Padawan?

And where had it gotten him, anyway?

For a long time, Obi-Wan just stared at nothing, leaning in the doorway and considering where the Force had taken him.

OOOOOOOOOO

In flawless Huttese, Anakin Skywalker repeated the order back to the customer, trying not to sound as bored as he felt. It was hard to work inside the shop dealing with customers and doing minor chores and repairs when there was a real, live Jedi working outside in the back.

Anakin accepted the proffered credits for payment and handed the Twi'Lek advisor a receipt for his purchase. Then, after he'd practically shooed his customer from the shop, the boy bounded out to the back, wondering what Obi-Wan was up to this morning. Obi-Wan Kenobi (_former? _Anakin wondered) Padawan to Anakin's All-Time Hero Qui-Gon Jinn, had been with them since late yesterday and it was pretty exciting to have a Jedi working in Watto's shop, even if was just for awhile to pay off the Jedi's debts.

Anakin still felt a little guilty for losing the Boonta Eve podrace, but in the end Master Qui-Gon had gotten the parts that he needed, and he would hopefully be back for Obi-Wan (or at least to bring him some fresh clothes) which meant that Anakin would see him – and more importantly, Padmé – again. And maybe they'd be in time for the next big race, which Anakin knew he was _**sure**_ to win, and Padmé would see him in the winner's circle and be very impressed, and maybe Master Qui-Gon would want to train him as a Jedi and Obi-Wan could stay on Tatooine and work for Watto.

Maybe.

Anakin smiled. It was a nice thought, and one that didn't seem too far out of his reach. After all, Master Jinn was coming back, wasn't he? And he'd bring Padmé.

Anakin bounced out into the back lot, his mind racing with the Jedi-type questions he wanted to ask Obi-Wan that might help to give him an edge on what Qui-Gon would want him to do as his Padawan.

He found Obi-Wan half-concealed beneath a junked-out landspeeder, searching for and removing any parts that could be reused or recycled. There was a small pile already collected, and Obi-Wan worked busily and efficiently to extricate what he deemed salvageable. Anakin happened to find it pretty wizard that a Jedi could be good with mechanical stuff, and since he knew how to do that, he was already ahead in his 'training.'

Anakin continued his perusal of the Jedi. Obi-Wan was nice enough, really, though he was a little odd and a little cold. Anakin still wished that Qui-Gon had stayed on Tatooine instead of Obi-Wan – or at least Padmé. Even Jar-Jar was more … animated than Obi-Wan. Despite Anakin's best and repeated efforts, Obi-Wan didn't seem inclined to talk much.

There weren't any more customers right now and Watto was nowhere to be seen, so Anakin figured he had a spare minute or two. Obi-Wan looked pretty busy, but Anakin was sure he wouldn't mind answering a few questions. The boy hoisted himself onto an empty shipping crate and began swinging his feet, bouncing them off the side of the crate. "Obi-Wan?"

There was no reply from the Jedi entrenched beneath the speeder, but if Anakin listened hard enough, he thought he could hear a faint melodic humming from Obi-Wan as the Jedi worked. Anakin wrinkled his nose. Obi-Wan sure didn't know much about slave stuff. He wasn't at all scared of Watto, and seemed almost okay with being a slave.

Anakin grinned as a thought struck him. Maybe Obi-Wan had as many questions to ask Anakin about being a slave as Anakin had about being a Jedi.

"Obi-Wan?"

Anakin's short legs continued their dull, rhythmic beating against the metal crate upon which he sat. He wasn't sure if Obi-Wan had heard him or not, so he tried again, a little louder.

"Hey, Obi-Wan!"

The humming stopped. "Hm? What, Anakin?"

Anakin decided to test the waters, just to be safe. He didn't want to jeopardize his chances for a little inside Jedi knowledge if Obi-Wan happened to be in a bad mood this morning. "How ya doin'?"

There was a lengthy pause. "Um, fine?"

"Do ya like, uh, working? Here at Watto's, I mean."

Another pause, and maybe the tiniest of sighs from the Padawan. "It keeps my mind off of … other things."

"Oh." It seemed okay to go ahead, so Anakin prepared to launch his first real question, a sort of feel-you-out inquiry that might help him decide if he actually wanted to be a Jedi. He wondered briefly if Qui-Gon had sold Obi-Wan because he was a bad apprentice, and resolved that if Master Qui-Gon trained _**him**_, he'd be really, really smart and good and the best Padawan ever. Especially if Master Qui-Gon could just get rid of him; but then again, Master Qui-Gon had said he'd be back for Obi-Wan. Maybe Obi-Wan was just on probation or something.

"What's it like being a Jedi? I mean, what do they teach you at Jedi school?"

"Well, for one thing … " Obi-Wan's voice was muffled, but still filtered out from the young Jedi's position beneath the speeder, and even half-hidden in the grease pit, the newly-acquired slave still managed to convey wry amusement in his reply. "…. they teach you how to sit still."

Anakin paused his fidgeting guiltily, one foot hovering in the air as he aborted his kicking, watching Obi-Wan wrestle with the recalcitrant speeder. "Oh," he said again sheepishly, "Sorry."

"That's all right, Anakin," Obi-Wan grunted. His grasping fingers came into view a moment later, scrabbling through the array of tools he'd laid out for use on the speeder. Not finding what he wanted, Obi-Wan paused to visualize in his mind his tools and their locations. Finding the spanner he wanted just out of reach, he waved his fingers slightly and brought the tool into his waiting palm with the use of the Force. Anakin watched in wide-eyed amazement.

"Woooow. That's so wizard, Obi-Wan! Qui-Gon thought I could be a Jedi – could you teach me to do that?"

"The Force isn't exactly meant to be used for 'wizard' purposes, Anakin," Obi-Wan replied dryly. "I'd like to think that the Jedi cause is a little more noble than that."

"I know," Anakin returned automatically, "but if I'm gonna be a Jedi, I'll have to learn how to do all kinds of Jedi stuff. Besides, I could really help Mom if I knew how to do that – I could put dishes away really fast, and clean up my room – " Anakin was momentarily distracted by the appearance of Watto, but Obi-Wan didn't seem to notice the cease of the boy's chattering. Anakin's eyes widened when he saw what Watto carried. Maybe Obi-Wan _**was**_ staying for a while…

Immediately he hopped off the crate and assumed the appearance of being busy, but he stayed nearby to see what Watto would do. Watto landed by the speeder that Obi-Wan was working on and without bothering to speak to the young Jedi, moved close enough to the Jedi to press a transmitter implanter against the thigh of Obi-Wan's breeches. Obi-Wan jerked slightly when Watto hit the injector and, dropping the spanner, pushed himself roughly out from beneath the speeder.

"What the _**hell**_ did you just do?" he demanded heatedly, hands on his hips as he directed an icy blue glare at the Toydarian. Watto actually hopped backward a few steps before he gathered the presence of mind to gets his wings beating enough that he could hover level to Obi-Wan's eyes, but even then, he stayed farther back than was necessary.

"Uh, all slaves carry a transmitter," he explained lamely. "To register and, uh, locate, and – "

"Excuse me – a what?" Obi-Wan interrupted in a low tone, his hands clenching at his sides.

"A transmitter."

"To track us," Anakin added helpfully, wondering quickly what would happen to him if Obi-Wan actually killed Watto in a rage; he looked pretty mad. He decided not to mention the addendum he'd earlier given Qui-Gon about the transmitter's ability to blow an errant slave to bits. Obi-Wan didn't look like he would take that very well.

Obi-Wan rubbed at his thigh angrily, still glowering at Watto. He could feel the upraised welt where the transmitter had burrowed under his skin and embedded itself into the muscle; the device, no matter how tiny, he could sense as an unwelcome intruder in his body and it irked him to no end that Watto had taken advantage of him and implanted the transmitter without consulting Obi-Wan first.

It was a moment before Obi-Wan realized that Watto had no need to consult him on anything: the Toydarian _**owned**_ him. Owned him. Could do whatever he wanted with him, and Obi-Wan had absolutely no say in the matter.

Obi-Wan felt chilled as realization sunk in. Even in being half of a Master-Padawan pair, there was a little room for leeway, and discussion; arguing, even. Here, in this place, he had no such liberty.

Obi-Wan suddenly felt a little unsteady on his feet. Owned him. He was property. Chattel. A possession.

"Oh," he said softly, and turned back to his work without another word.

OOOOOOOOOO

It was late. Anakin had been running errands throughout Mos Espa for Watto all afternoon and as a consequence was behind in his work in the shop. Before, Anakin had always been a little frightened to stay in the dark shop alone at night until he finished his work, but that was before Obi-Wan came. Obi-Wan didn't really have anywhere to go, and Watto didn't want to go to the trouble of arranging rooms in the slave quarters for a 'temporary' slave like Obi-Wan, so Obi-Wan stayed at the shop and slept on a small cot behind the counter.

At least, Anakin assumed that he slept. Anakin was usually in early and out late, and in the few days that Obi-Wan had been on Tatooine, Anakin had never seen him sleep – though he always looked tired.

Tonight, while Anakin finished repairs on a damaged pit droid, he watched as Obi-Wan fiddled with the engine system on the podracer Anakin had built and raced in the Boonta Eve fiasco. Qui-Gon had claimed that the pod was his and used it to wager Anakin's freedom, and when Anakin had lost Watto had taken the racer. Anakin, amazingly, found himself unbothered by Watto's new ownership of his podracer; the Toydarian certainly had no personal use for it, and Anakin was sure that he would be able to race again. If nothing else, Watto got a certain amusement out of entering him in podraces and then betting against him.

When Obi-Wan paused in his work to scratch at his thigh for the hundredth time, Anakin finally spoke up. "It goes away after awhile. The itch, I mean. When you stop thinking about it."

"Hm? Oh." Obi-Wan gave his leg a final swipe and resumed digging around in the racer's engine. What he was doing wasn't exactly clear to Anakin, and the boy wondered if maybe he should offer to help. It kinda looked like Obi-Wan was just pulling parts out at random.

"Have you ever seen a podrace, Obi-Wan?"

"Mmm," Obi-Wan murmured distractedly, his attention focused solely on the tangle of wires that had just loosened in his left hand. He was fairly certain they shouldn't have come out of the engine, and even more certain he hadn't a clue of where they went. His technical prowess had been learned by necessity and encompassed mainly starships and droids. Podracers were entirely new to him; he was just running out of things to do to keep his mind off the nearly unbearable waiting – and there was still more than a week at least before Qui-Gon would complete the cycle from Tatooine to Coruscant and back.

"I'm gonna win this next one – for Padmé. And for Qui-Gon, too."

"Mmm." Obi-Wan was frowning heavily at the wires now and a hint of worry lines had creased his forehead. This was not good.

"Even though I lost this race, I'm pretty great at it," Anakin continued, finally giving in to his insatiable curiosity and moving forward to peer inquisitively around Obi-Wan's bicep. "In fact, I'm the only human who can do it – You know, if you – "

"Are you so experienced in the galaxy that you can make that claim, young one?" Obi-Wan asked irritably, managing to keep the snap from his voice but maneuvering so his shoulder obscured from Anakin's line of vision what his hands were doing. Not good at all. He wondered if the 'only human' who could podrace ever planned on using this particular racer again – and then paused a moment to consider the ludicrousness of Anakin's claim. "Do you actually _**know**_that you're the only human who has ever raced a pod before?" he inquired curiously.

"We-e-e-ll … " Anakin hedged, his youthful face screwing into a frown but none of his enthusiasm disappearing. "How about the only human on Tatooine?" he compromised, with what he hoped was a disarming smile.

Obi-Wan's eyebrow flicked upward as he finally raised his eyes from his work. "Have you ever been outside of Mos Espa?" he asked critically, but with a small, grudging grin.

"We-e-e-ll … " Anakin began, than stopped guiltily.

"We-e-e-ll," Obi-Wan mocked, but his eyes crinkled with humor and drew any insult out of his teasing. "Pride goes before destruction, young one," he chastised.

"So you think _**you**_ could do it?" Anakin asked, a mischievous grin lighting his face. "Besides, I'm not proud – just confident."

"Ouch," Obi-Wan laughed despite himself. "Good point. But there is such a thing as overconfidence. You can't do _**everything**_, Anakin," he pointed out …

… and shivered suddenly when Anakin's demeanor shifted abruptly. Again there was that flicker of dark energy that Obi-Wan had experienced the first time he'd seen the boy. It pulsed through the room, winding through Obi-Wan's soul like a freezing frisson and a siren's song of darkness that beckoned and called and tempted him to reach out and embrace it as his own.

He became dimly aware of Anakin repeating his name, the boy's tone becoming progressively more agitated as no response was forthcoming from the Jedi. Obi-Wan blinked, coming back to himself as the darkness receded slowly. "What is it, Anakin?" he asked thickly, hunching over slightly.

"You sort of … weirded out for a minute, Obi-Wan," Anakin explained cautiously. "I was getting worried."

Suddenly the strewn apart pieces of the podracer were incredibly insignificant. Obi-Wan needed to be alone, and to think about this newest complication in an increasingly long list.

"It's late," he said abruptly. "Come on. I'll walk you home."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Anakin asked skeptically. "You look a little white. Kinda like when you almost set off your transmitter the second day."

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan reassured, though he retained a pale, pinched look. He managed a wan smile and added, "And you could have told me a little earlier that they have the potential to, um, blow a person into bits."

Anakin's nose scrunched. "Good thing Watto widened the range, huh?"

"A very good thing," Obi-Wan agreed. Qui-Gon probably wouldn't have appreciated returning to Tatooine to discover that his apprentice had managed to blow himself into tiny pieces that even the Force wouldn't have been able to put back together. Consequently, Watto had very thoughtfully widened the range to allow Obi-Wan a little leeway, but the young Jedi would still be unable to go any significant distance without first setting off the warning and then activating the actual explosion implant if he failed to return to a 'safe' area within a short amount of time. "I'd like to make sure you get home okay, though."

Anakin laughed at Obi-Wan's protectiveness. "I've been walking home alone long before you ever showed up, Obi-Wan."

"Yeah," Obi-Wan returned with a weary grin, "but since I'm here now, I think I'll see that you get home safely, okay?"

Anakin shrugged. "Sure. If you want." The boy put the droid away and collected his backpack, leading Obi-Wan the short distance to the block of slave housing.

After he'd deposited Anakin at the tiny Skywalker hovel, Obi-Wan continued to walk the dark streets mindlessly, headed back for the shop in roundabout way. His thoughts wandered over his scheduled work for the morrow, the whereabouts of Qui-Gon and the queen, and finally, the puzzle of Anakin Skywalker. Qui-Gon had been so sure that Anakin was special, and indeed, Obi-Wan himself had found the boy to have an exceptionally high midichlorian count; but there was something so indescribably dark and dangerous about the boy that Obi-Wan was determined to keep a careful eye on the young slave.

A few paces ahead of him stood a tavern, its lights warm and welcoming, but a dull throbbing from the transmitter warned him that he'd very nearly crossed outside his permitted boundaries and was, in fact, close to setting off the explosion device built into his transmitter. Obi-Wan cast a look at the yellowish light spilling from the windows and thought that spiced ale sounded quite inviting right about now, or just about anything strong for that matter.

"I feel like a nek on a leash," he muttered, then turned back toward the street and melted into the darkness.

OOOOOOOOOO


	6. it's all fun and games

_Italics are flash-forward in time._

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter five: it's all fun and games …

_Oh Force. _

_They're coming for me. _

_**She's**__ coming for me._

_I can hear them laughing and I know she's waiting. She's always waiting._

_Force, they're going to open the box and they're going to touch me. They're going to touch me._

_It's almost funny how I used to relish the touch of another, as a comfort, a balm, an assurance of physical nearness. Now I hate the thought. They're going to open the box and they're going to take me out and to do that they have to touch my red, blistered skin, and it's going to hurt, and I'm scared. _

_I'm absolutely terrified._

_I can feel the open sores oozing something viscous and warm and I wish I could see what it is so I know whether or not to worry…_

_Immediately I realize the absurdity of this thought. Of __**course**__ I should worry, only I can't because I start to panic when I worry, and I have to stay under control. Focused. They can't be allowed the pleasure of seeing me quite literally lose my mind, though Force knows they've tried very hard to. I can't see anything. I wonder if my eyes are damaged. It's very dark and cramped and I've not had any light in days, but every inch of my body feels like it's on fire and I can't help but wonder if they've hurt my eyes. She made them promise not to but they don't always listen and I remember them laughing and they said they were going to … oh Force, what if they've scored my eyes?_

_Slow down, Kenobi. Careful. _

_Deep breaths. No panic attacks. You're above those. You're a Jedi. Regardless of whatever else they may have taken from you, you're still a Jedi. At least you remember that much. Just try to focus._

_I can hear them now, unlocking the lid to this hellish contraption. Any minute now their hands are going to be scrabbling over my bare skin, forgoing any gentleness as they try to lift me out – they'll certainly be on their own in that task; I think my body is permanently coiled from being cramped in this tiny space for so long. _

_Whatever I did to earn this punishment, I will never, ever do again. To burn in the day and freeze at night in a container that wouldn't even comfortably fit … Ana … A … A … who? Who was I thinking of? _

_Does it matter? _

_From the haze that's my brain, I search for the name but remain clueless. Maybe I'll remember it later, maybe not. Thankfully, another name registers in the fog, and I latch onto it gratefully and clutch it tightly like it's some sort of priceless treasure: Delian. And to me it is indeed something precious; I need something familiar to hold on to, anything that might help me to remember and keep me just a little bit sane. I'll need all the help I can get:_

_They've come for me, and she's waiting._

OOOOOOOOOO

The Corellian wasn't sure what led her back to Mos Espa – and later on she would fervently deny that the Force could have had anything to do with it whatsoever – but a few days after her initial visit to the tiny settlement, Delian Ani-Suru again sauntered into Watto's murky shop and found herself once more face-to-absolutely-perfect-face with the junk dealer's newest mechanic/slave, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Damn.

She hadn't been expecting him to be here; in fact, she'd been trying to forget him since she'd first laid eyes on him, with little success. He'd been completely compelling and captivating, standing beneath the suns that so obviously and lovingly favored him, so impudent and yet so innocent in his charm. Something about him – his confident stance, his bright eyes, his beguiling voice… oh, Kest, that voice … Something about him had set off a little whisper in her head that she'd thought long squelched and had fervently wished it would stay that way. She flew strictly solo and couldn't afford to be attached to anyone, no matter how adorable that little freckle on his cheekbone was.

If she could just pinpoint what it was that made him so mesmerizing, maybe she could concentrate on forgetting it and consequently, forgetting him. Unfortunately, he was a complete ensemble: there wasn't any one distinctive facet that stood out about him and marked him as exceptional, but rather dozens and dozens of little things all assembled into one blue-eyed gem named Obi-Wan Kenobi and brilliantly displayed for anyone who cared to notice.

And notice she did, of course.

From her vantage point in the entryway, Delian considered Watto's newest acquisition, who sure as hell didn't look like any slave the Corellian had ever seen outside of a royal pleasure court of the highest order, and most certainly didn't look like a mechanic who belonged in the grease pits of a ramshackle junk shop in grimy Mos Espa.

But Delian had been involved with the less-than-sophisticated ways of life for a long time now. She knew that it could be any number of things that had sent Kenobi into the spiral from patron to slave – an unpaid loan or a bad gamble or roll of the dice, for instance; none of those circumstances were infrequent on planets like Tatooine where sentient beings were bought and sold daily as a matter of course. Young Anakin Skywalker, for instance, had never known an existence apart from being gambled away as if he were a piece of property, and this he seemed to accept as a completely normal way of living.

In her opinion, it was a damned sad excuse for a life.

Mid-reflection, Delian suddenly noticed that across the room, Kenobi was looking at her, and from the slight smile quirking his lips, had probably been watching her staring blankly for some time. Damn, she'd been rambling mentally again, and in her line of business, being distracted was unacceptable. Delian tossed her short hair over her shoulder haughtily and strode into the shop, trying to control the blush that was squirming its way across her cheeks.

"Miss Ani-Suru," Kenobi greeted politely as she neared – in _**that**_ voice – but his staid expression wobbled perilously when Anakin Skywalker, noticing her arrival gleefully, insolently and cheerfully barreled his way past Kenobi's hips to bounce up and settle himself onto the countertop to meet her. His bright eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Miss Ani-Suru," he drawled gravely, pitching his childlike voice into an utterly awful but somehow recognizable imitation of Obi-Wan's own dulcet tones. Anakin dropped a dramatic kiss on the hand she proffered with a grin. "It's a pleasure to welcome you again to our humble establishment."

"Thank you, Master Skywalker," Delian intoned in return, daring to sneak an impish glance at Kenobi, who shrugged offhandedly and moved off to assist the customer who had followed Delian into the shop – a female humanoid clad in tech coveralls similar to Delian's own.

"Don't mind Obi-Wan," Anakin advised in a loud whisper not really meant to conceal any of his words. "He's kinda cool, but kinda stodgy." He rolled his eyes long-sufferingly. "And _**very**_ polite. It's really embarrassing when the pilots come in to talk – he made me leave 'cause they were talking about, um … uh … " Anakin trailed off suddenly at Delian's raised eyebrows and laughed a little nervously. "Never mind. You don't want to hear about Obi-Wan." He was looking for a gracious way to backpedal out of his gaffe when he was saved by the arrival of Watto, who had noticed Delian's entrance.

"Ah, Delian!" Watto hovered in to greet one of his favorite – and best-paying – customers. "What can-a we do for you? And so soon after your last visit! That's good, good," he mumbled, pleased, as he twitched his thick, blunted fingers together in anticipation, she was sure, of the many credits he was doubtlessly imagining her spending in his well-stocked shop. There was just one problem.

She wasn't exactly sure why she'd come.

There was a reason, she was sure, only she really didn't know it at this particular moment in time. She had simply come because she'd felt she had to. Frustrated, Delian pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, more brusquely than was necessary, and began twisting one of her earrings as a way to assuage the nervousness in the pit of her stomach. Her life had become a hell of a lot more complicated these past few days. But as her being here had nothing to do with the Force, it must have been something else that she needed desperately …

"I need a, a hydrospanner!" Delian blurted quickly, seizing upon the first thing in her mind. For that reason, she was insanely grateful she hadn't shouted that she'd needed "a Kenobi." Kest.

Anakin's eyebrows lifted, and Watto's forehead unwrinkled in an indication of his surprise. "A hydrospanner?" they repeated simultaneously, disbelief spilling from their respective tones at the same time Delian thought incredulously, _A hydrospanner? I have a hundred of those at the garage._

"No, I don't need a hydrospanner," she amended, smiling despite her momentary, very un-Corellian lapse of nonchalance. Recovering her composure, she sheltered the smile with her typical smirk. "I need some parts for a standard XM3 swoop … and a mechanic," she added firmly, and suddenly it made perfect sense. She was out a good mechanic at the moment; of course she would need a replacement before the next set of Games in Mos Eisley. Kenobi's terms of servitude were his own business, but the more Delian surveyed the slave, the more her Corellian instinct – _**not**_ the Force – tried to convince her that he was critical to her near future.

"Me?" Anakin squeaked eagerly, drawing Delian's attention back to the child. Delian's expression crinkled as she tried to imagine herself with a nine-year-old boy in her charge, and especially one as chatty and mischievous as Anakin Skywalker. It wasn't a very endearing picture.

"Uh, I was actually thinking about Kenobi," she elaborated. She followed Anakin's instinctive glance toward the individual in question, watching as Kenobi glided around the rear of the shop, good-naturedly filling an order for the female humanoid who wasn't sure exactly _**what**_ she wanted, but appeared determined to keep Kenobi climbing, bending, and searching for things that she _**might**_ need. It was, Delian decided haughtily, a rather disgusting display, but Kenobi seemed patiently above it, distancing himself from both the mindless work and the female's leering.

"Figures," Anakin muttered in a knowing way he was far too young to posses. "Just don't ask him to work on any podracers," he advised disgustedly. "Trust me." Anakin sighed, rolling his eyes again and gesturing expansively. "Wires and parts _**everywhere**_," he confided in an aside with a wince.

"What about swoops and speeders?" Delian wanted to know.

"Pretty good – for the Games?" Anakin asked, his interest piqued. He'd heard them discussed among the shop's patrons and had them pegged as being fast, risky, and suicidal – his kind of fun.

"For the – hey! How do you know about those?" Delian interrupted herself incredulously. "Those are for the adults, honey." Not that the podraces weren't … but that was another story. Delian had to wonder what Anakin's mother thought about his participation in the races, but just as quickly shrugged it off. Gambling was even more prevalent than slavery here, and considered perfectly normal; expected, even, if one had funds, property, or slaves to wager.

Anakin just sighed as if she'd asked him if Tatooine had two suns. "I listen to all the pilots," he reminded her. "I know just about everything that goes on around here."

"Is that so?" Her cinnamon eyes narrowed as she considered Kenobi once more. "Can he pilot a speeder?"

"Yeah!" Anakin said excitedly; though he really had no proof of this, he was sure that Obi-Wan could, 'cause he was a Jedi after all, and couldn't they do _**anything**_? "And he's a Jedi, too! He can move stuff without using his hands and do all sorts of neat things!" Keyed up at the thought of Obi-Wan being involved the Games, Anakin continued eagerly, "He'd make an awesome racer, Delian! Jedi can do anything and he'd win for sure!" Anakin caught the reproving stare Obi-Wan threw over his broad shoulder, and he realized that his voice had risen considerably in his enthusiasm. "Uh, oops … "

"A Jedi, huh?" Delian's eyebrow arched in query, but her mouth turned down in a sour frown as she considered the implications of this discovery. This was something altogether different. A Jedi? How had a Jedi ended up a slave on this wretched planet? "A Force-wielder. Fabulous."

Obi-Wan, finished with his customer, approached the small group warily as if he sensed that his future was in question. The Corellian met his eyes pointedly as he settled himself suspiciously beside her, but he said nothing, merely waited as Delian thought for a moment. If his senses were as attuned as she'd heard Jedi could be, and he was as good as Anakin claimed, she really could use him in the Games.

Delian stopped to wonder a moment why, despite her sentiment on the subject mere moments before, she was making excuses to herself about just why she would need a slave – and this one in particular. Before she could question this further, however, she heard herself ask, "How about it, Watto? Could I borrow your Jedi for the Mos Eisley race?"

At that, Obi-Wan's calm exterior did crack. "Now just a minute," he began, but Delian's sudden palm on his chest stopped his advance, and he retreated cagily when Watto displayed the transmitter as a warning – he'd shortly before been on the receiving end of one of the transmitter's less than pleasant features designed to keep slaves in line. Watto had hastily assured him that it was an accident, but Obi-Wan was wryly unconvinced that it was anything less than a warning to keep his tongue firmly in cheek.

"_**You**_ have no say in the matter, Jedi," Delian told him sweetly, but not without a trace of iron. She left her hand solidly on his chest; just touching him was exquisite and she relished the feeling. "You're property, to be bought, sold – or leased. So shut up." She turned back to Watto, a speculative gleam in her eyes, her confidence increasing by the moment. "I'll pay you well enough; you know I can afford it."

"Well, uh … I don't know … " Watto hesitated. He had the distinct feeling that Jinn would not be pleased to learn that the Toydarian had leased his Padawan out for something as dangerous as the Games Delian liked to play in, and he could feel the young Jedi's dark glare fixed upon him. But there was the money to consider, always the money …

Delian caught his hesitation and pulled out her trump card. "I only want to borrow him, not buy him. But if he's not worth my business to you … " she trailed off, smiling in a slightly predatory way. She had Watto – and the Jedi – and she knew it.

It was delightfully satisfying, and her Corellian pride preened at her victory. "The Games are in three days; I'll be back for him tomorrow. We negotiate the full price then. Agreed?"

This time Watto didn't hesitate; so eager was he to retain her business. "Agreed," he repeated nervously.

He didn't dare look at Obi-Wan.

OOOOOOOOOO

The noise in the cockpit was unbelievable. Ear-shattering klaxons blared their dire warnings over the shriek of rending metal, and sensors all over the pilot's console were adding their screeching alarms to the din in an effort to snare the diverted attention of the harried pilot. Ric Olie howled his disbelief at the readings his board was feeding him, and the quick look he threw over his shoulder at the Jedi Master standing calmly behind him clearly conveyed his dark hopelessness.

"We're in a lot of trouble," he told Qui-Gon grimly, not quite able to keep the worried edge from his voice. Qui-Gon leaned forward to peer at the readout Ric indicated, setting his jaw tightly as a cold knot twisted his stomach. Hyperdrive failure. Hull breach. Engines offline. They were spiraling toward the unknown planet visible through the cockpit window at an incredible speed, and there wasn't much Ric could do to slow their rapid descent.

"We're going in hard," Olie gritted out as he fought with the controls ineffectively. "Comm's out – go to the main hold and make sure everyone's braced for impact; hurry!"

Without sparing the half-second it would take to offer an acknowledgement, Qui-Gon whirled about and strode through the corridor, one hand braced for balance against the shock padding that lined the walls. The normal interior illumination had failed a few minutes ago, leaving everything bathed in the blood red glow of emergency lighting.

A grim Captain Panaka was in charge of the hold, and he turned to face Qui-Gon coldly as the doors slid open to reveal the Jedi Master. "Perhaps, Jedi Master, you should have taken care of the hyperdrive installation yourself."

Annoyed, Qui-Gon snapped, "This has nothing to do with the hyperdrive, Captain. I'm afraid it's a little more serious than that." Raising his voice, Qui-Gon commanded the attention of everyone in the hold. "We need to prepare for impact – please, everyone get yourselves strapped in … "

OOOOOOOOOO

_We lived through another one, Obi-Wan, _was Qui-Gon's first thought as blurred consciousness trampled through his brain with all the finesse of the stampeding Nubian animals he had tried to flee with a week earlier. _See? I told you. It could always be worse._

… _I think_, he modified groggily as he tried to lift his head from the cold decking. He hadn't managed to get himself secured before they'd impacted with the surface, and had been bounced around severely as the vessel writhed and skidded to a screeching stop. Something warm dripped sluggishly down his forehead, and his hair hung in damp, slickly red-tinged strands across his face. Miraculously, he seemed otherwise uninjured but for a pounding soreness in every single fiber of his body. Qui-Gon pushed himself up onto all fours, shaking his head slightly. Not one of the better crash landings he'd had the misfortunate to be involved in.

Already, Qui-Gon was assembling in his head a list of things he would need to do: check the other occupants of the hold for injuries, survey the cockpit and assess any problems or injuries there, find a way to contact Coruscant …

He was pulled from his thoughts by an unfamiliar noise from one of the aft stations that drew his attention toward the group that had been secured there. The aft side of the ship had sustained an incredible amount of damage in the crash and Qui-Gon's breath left him in a rush when he realized that the sound was that of soft sobbing from one of the handmaidens, who had unfastened her restraints and now was on her knees beside a body dressed in elaborate robes of office. Qui-Gon swallowed hard and knelt beside the girl, resting a large hand on her shoulder as he gently and slowly shrugged out of his own simple robe and quietly moved to cover the queen's body with it; it seemed such an unfitting, plain shroud for the young woman who had shown such spirit and courage throughout the trials of their journey.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to the handmaiden, who shook her blonde head as tears continued to fall from her eyes. "I'm so sorry." Another of the young women joined them, her long, dark tresses spilling over her shoulder as she leaned over the shrouded body of the queen.

"My queen," she whispered brokenly, "I'm so sorry. It should have been me in your place; you know I would have given willingly."

Wanting to give them some space and mindful of others who might need looked after, Qui-Gon slowly backed away from the grieving women and rose tiredly to survey the damaged vessel. Panaka was slowly extricating himself from his safety restraints, trying awkwardly to unfasten the belts one-handed while not jostling his injured left arm. Qui-Gon crossed to him quietly, gently undoing the clasps and helping him to stand while trying not to see the unstaring eyes of the handmaiden who had been belted in beside the security chief. He suddenly realized he hadn't heard a noise from Jar Jar since they'd gone down and he was forced to assume the worst.

"I need to get to the cockpit," he told Panaka grimly. "Please see to the young ladies and do what you can." Panaka nodded shortly, but before Qui-Gon could leave the hold he found his entrance blocked by a truly frightening figure.

His face was a hideous mask of red and black tattooing and his eyes gleamed yellow from their bloodshot depths, the hate clearly conveyed in them drilling into the Jedi Master as he stared in stunned horror, piecing together what this creature was despite the fact that he'd never actually encountered a Sith warrior before. The Dark Side rolled off the creature so thickly that Qui-Gon felt temporarily unable to breathe and the blood red of the emergency lighting under which they stood only heightened the garishness of the Sith; one of the handmaidens gasped in horror, and a terrified prayer rolled off her lips.

Qui-Gon saw a haze of red flash before his eyes but it was a disjointed feeling, like it belonged in another time. He couldn't spare a thought to it, however; the crimson blades on the lightsaber that the Sith had produced powered to life, and Qui-Gon was already going for the hilt of his own weapon. A movement to Jinn's left, and he saw that Panaka had withdrawn his blaster and aimed it at the intruder.

"No!"

The cry of warning died on the Jedi Master's lips as Panaka's panicked shots were repelled by the lightsaber and driven back into the man's torso. One of the handmaidens shrieked and scrabbled across the decking to the security chief, but Qui-Gon didn't need to turn to see the disbelieving shake of her head. He'd already felt Panaka's Force essence disappear.

His own emerald lightsaber was humming in his hand and he half-turned, instincts kicking in, and ready to work in tandem with his Padawan to defeat this menace. When he turned, however, the space beside him was empty; there was no brilliant azure blade at the ready:

Obi-Wan was on Tatooine. Obi-Wan was a slave on Tatooine.

The queen was dead.

Anakin would not be trained if the Jedi Master failed.

There was no one but him, Qui-Gon realized.

He was alone and alone, Qui-Gon turned to face the Sith.

OOOOOOOOOO

The tool Obi-Wan was handling clattered to the floor as the young Jedi suddenly wavered unsteadily, his hands reaching for his temples to scrub away the phantom pain that suddenly stabbed through his head. Without quite knowing why, he glanced frantically down at the front of his tunic, expecting a flower of crimson to blossom among the grease stains and grime.

"Master?" he whispered disbelievingly, his fingers running lightly over his stomach as he felt for an imagined wound. "Please, no," he breathed, terrified.

"Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, are you okay?" Anakin was at his elbow, pulling and tugging him toward a low stack of crates and pushing the dazed Padawan into a seated position. Obi-Wan's eyes were wide with horror and his mouth worked silently, unspoken words lodging in his throat.

"What is it, Obi-Wan? What's wrong?"

Obi-Wan wasn't even looking at him, and Anakin felt an uneasy shudder ripple through him at the blank terror on Obi-Wan's face.

"Voices," Obi-Wan mumbled, staring ahead blankly, "that cried out in terror … and were silenced. Oh Force," he breathed, "please, please, _no_. Master … Master … " Obi-Wan's face dropped into his hands and he cradled his head gently, rocking and keening softly in a low, anguished murmur.

Unsure of what to do, Anakin waited by his side and rubbed little circles on the Jedi's shoulder, though he was uncertain if Obi-Wan even knew he was there. Obi-Wan stayed huddled like that for a very long time, and Anakin stayed with him.

It was the least he could do for Master Qui-Gon's apprentice.

OOOOOOOOOO


	7. fire and rain

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter six: fire and rain

oooooooooo

_I've seen fire and I've seen rain, _

_I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end. _

_I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend _

_. . . but I always thought that I'd see you again._

James Taylor, "Fire and Rain"

oooooooooo

Obi-Wan Kenobi was in trouble.

Swirling coils of the frightened agony of other beings had surged through his unprepared mind, leaving streaking, open sores in their wake and lancing across his own older, half-healed aches, digging them out violently and unmercifully and cruelly exposing them to the light.

The ragged gash of his shared bond with his Master had poured the pain and terror of not only Qui-Gon Jinn, but also that of the people with him into Obi-Wan's mind with such sudden brilliance and forcefulness that it was more than the young Jedi could handle. He reeled mentally at the onslaught, which disappeared only when the last thready remnants of the bond flickered and died as Qui-Gon's connection to his Padawan abruptly choked off and severed.

The damage to Obi-Wan, however, had already wound its excruciating way deep inside him and he had withdrawn far into the recesses of his mind, away from the unexpected invasion of dread and hurt and confusion and into a dark, still place where he felt safe from the shock and could hide from the horrifying images he'd seen through his Master's eyes: twisted bodies littering the ship's hold, a leering, black-clad demon before him, a glowing blood-red blade sliding effortlessly through his chest.

He had fled to a place where none of those things: the images, the wounds and screams that were his own and others', could touch him and he was determined to stay - forever, if need be. The bond had snapped, he was certain of that, and with the horrible rending had come a backlash of pain so strong that his whole consciousness had been submerged by it. He was, on some level, aware of what had happened and was happening to him, but only his motor functions seemed to be working properly. He also recognized that Anakin had taken his hand and was leading him somewhere, but all his cogent awareness of the outside world was filtered in through a haze so thick that it was simply futile to try and understand what was going on beyond the layers of his damaged mind.

Besides, it was Safe here.

OOOOOOOOOO

Anakin had waited for some time, and still Obi-Wan's ginger head rested in his trembling hands, his slumped shoulders bowed under a seemingly incredible weight that only he could feel and carry. That the Jedi had long since ceased to make any noise was a fact for which Anakin was immensely relieved: the anguished harshness of Obi-Wan's desperate, unintelligible murmurs had worried the boy with both their pained intensity and with his inability to comfort his new friend.

"Obi-Wan?" he poked softly, not daring to break the still in the air with anything more than a whisper. "Are you okay now? What's wrong? Is there something I can do to help you, Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan?"

It had taken a little more time and much tentative, worried prodding by Anakin before Obi-Wan finally lifted his head from the defensive huddle he'd adopted atop the low crate, tilting his face just slightly to the side so that one blank blue-grey eye peered over the splayed fingers that supported his chin. Though Obi-Wan's tired eyes were dry, they carried a new bleakness and, more worrisome to the troubled young boy watching the Jedi carefully, a certain empty confusion to them, as if Obi-Wan had suddenly gone on a mental holiday and left his body behind.

Or, Anakin thought grimly, his imagination already kicking into full gear, considering the suddenness of what had just happened, maybe - maybe - an evil alien parasite had taken over Obi-Wan's body and just hadn't figured out how to work it yet, like in the holofilm he and Kitster had snuck off to see one afternoon.

Anakin bit his lip and stepped back a pace, considering. Obi-Wan was just weird enough that something like that could probably happen to him . . . but then again, Obi-Wan was just weird enough that Anakin surmised he most likely wouldn't be able to tell if a creepy space parasite _**had**_ taken over Obi-Wan's body - there probably wouldn't be much of a difference.

Still . . . Obi-Wan - or whoever he was - looked pretty bad, and the confusion in his vacant eyes bothered Anakin. He chewed at his bottom lip with his teeth as he thought. His mom would be getting concerned that he wasn't home yet, but he hated to leave Obi-Wan such a mess. Anakin made a quick decision that had served him well once before.

"Obi-Wan? Hey, Obi-Wan, come on." He stepped forward and took the Jedi's slackly unresponsive fingers in his hand, coaxing and cajoling for Obi-Wan's attention. Obi-Wan blinked a few times, looking slightly dazed and irritated at being bothered, but he said nothing and merely regarded Anakin passively. Anakin shuddered at the absolute lack of recognition in the Jedi's stare and tugged harder on Obi-Wan's hand, forcing Obi-Wan to uncurl himself from his knotted position and slam his feet to the floor to keep from toppling over. This time Obi-Wan made a sound of displeasure, but no cognitive gleam pierced the veil of haze that shrouded his eyes.

"I'm gonna take you home with me tonight, so Mom can help you," Anakin continued, trying to sound calm, while in truth he was very worried about Obi-Wan's pallid features and lack of response. This behavior wasn't at all that of the dry, cheerful, teasing, overly polite, and stodgy Obi-Wan he'd become accustomed to having around. Perhaps it really _**was**_ an evil parasitic space slug...

_Cool_, Anakin thought.

OOOOOOOOOO

He and Anakin were walking. They walked and walked, and Obi-Wan stayed huddled in his mind, hiding from the torn edges of the bond he'd shared with his Master. It wasn't easy because he was tired, but somehow he managed to do it. He knew that he'd have to get past it to reach the outside world again, but it really hurt so very badly, and if the bond had snapped it meant that his Master was seriously injured - or worse - and if this was how the rest of his life was to be, did he really want to come out?

In his Safe place, Obi-Wan Kenobi cowered. The frightened teenager that he'd been before Qui-Gon Jinn had entered his life and taught him to quiet his mind had completely overwhelmed the calm young man that he'd become with the help of Qui-Gon and their training bond, and the old but freshly exposed demons were eager to pounce and plunder and remind him of the sadness and horrors that had permeated his young life.

Nevertheless, the Force wasn't about to let one of its beloved servants perish, afraid and abandoned, on the brutal sands of Tatooine. Not when there was much work to be done yet by Obi-Wan Kenobi. So after little Anakin Skywalker, the child whom the Dark tempted delightedly with the fervent expectation of eventual success, carefully and worriedly guided the unresponsive Jedi to the slave quarters and the warm, inviting lights of the tiny Skywalker home, and after Shmi Skywalker had carefully examined the young Jedi and laid him in her son's bed to rest for the night, warm tendrils of the Light wrapped themselves around Obi-Wan's damaged mind, healing and soothing with aching gentleness and carefully closing over the wounds that the rupturing of the training bond had left in its wake, calming and caressing and infusing with light and love. Gently it cradled the suddenly weeping body and stroked the rough cheek.

Time would help heal this beloved servant, but there were some things that needed to be . . . forgotten, for the moment. Compassionately, the tendrils finally nudged closed Obi-Wan's actual memory of the bond breaking and covered it over with a soft veil that would discourage all but the most persistent efforts. Then they withdrew quietly from the exhausted mind, settling the apprentice gently into a healing slumber.

OOOOOOOOOO

Warm sunlight teased playfully at his eyelids, coaxing and cajoling him to rise and greet the new day, and he reflexively reached up a hand to swat it away. He was unsuccessful in his effort, but it didn't prevent him from trying once more, batting at the offending intruder with as much vigor as he'd used to hack the battle droids of the Trade Federation into pieces before the crash landing on Tatooine had effectively thrown a hydrospanner into the works.

When this approach failed a second time, he tugged the blanket up over his head and tucked it around himself firmly, knowing that if he was stubborn enough - which he was - he could secure at least another ten minutes of sleep before his Master started threatening to break the door down.

That was when reality crashed down upon him and Obi-Wan's eyes flew open as he realized there was no waiting Master looming ominously outside the door, and he certainly wouldn't get any more sleep because he was supposed to be working for Watto, probably at this very minute. He was still stuck on this dusty rock Tatooine, and Qui-Gon was returning the queen to Coruscant.

But he didn't remember this bed or this room, and come to think of it, he had no clear memory of what had transpired since he'd been working in the shop last night. There was also a bewildering fuzziness in his head that he couldn't quite place the cause of . . . it wasn't unpleasant, but it _**was**_ confusing as hell.

Obi-Wan grasped the edge of the rough blanket that scraped against his skin, prepared to throw it aside, leap from the bed, and demand answers as to what exactly was going on here.

That was when he realized, belatedly, that the rough blanket that was scraping across his skin was scraping roughly across an _**awful**_ _**lot**_ of his skin. Obi-Wan frowned the frown that Qui-Gon had once privately classified as Kenobi Frown 22: Disgruntled, Confused, and Just a Little Bit Worried.

Disturbed, Obi-Wan added up the facts as he knew them to this point: he was in an unfamiliar room, clad in . . . well, very little, and he had a monstrous headache. He was coming to the rather unpleasant conclusion that he was somehow reliving the time on Ota II when the Queen Mother had decided that he was the perfect candidate for consort of her only daughter and had had him drugged, seized, and 'sufficiently prepared' for the arrival of the princess.

Despite his current confused state, the memory elicited a dry smile from Obi-Wan. It had taken some intriguing diplomatic maneuvers by Qui-Gon to recover his detained Padawan. In fact, the Jedi Master had almost stormed the Queen Mother's castle, lightsaber swinging, to rescue his apprentice.

The thought of Qui-Gon made him feel unexpectedly unsettled, and Obi-Wan wondered why. It would be another few days yet before Qui-Gon could possibly make his way back to Tatooine; there wasn't any reason to even fathom worry over his Master's absence. And yet, the thought of Qui-Gon set off a spark of distress deep in his mind . . .

"Hey, Obi-Wan!"

The voice was bright, youthful, and seemed to resound throughout the room in incredibly loud waves that reverberated through his headache and set off tiny explosions of pain before his eyes. Anakin Skywalker peered around the doorframe, his bright gaze kindled with curiosity.

"How ya feelin' this morning?"

Regardless of the fact he seemed to be capable of coherent thought, Obi-Wan found that his mouth wasn't quite working in tandem with his brain to form recognizable words, and it was rather mortifying to the young Jedi when his begging entreaty to Anakin, "Don't speak any louder - !" came out sounding like, "double cheeseburger," and Anakin actually looked enlightened and like he understood Obi-Wan's garbled message perfectly, while Obi-Wan really hadn't a clue as to what exactly a cheeseburger was.

Obi-Wan held up a hand to forestall Anakin's next rush of questions, closed his eyes, and concentrated on forming his next sentence. "Where is this? And please speak quietly, Anakin," he added hastily as Anakin drew a deep breath to respond, no doubt in preparation for belting out his answers in a manner he must have learned from a mostly-deaf Hutt somewhere.

Anakin paused mid-breath. "Oh, okay. This is my house," he explained, pronouncing his words very softly and slowly. "And this is my room, actually."

"How did I get here?" Obi-Wan questioned curiously. "Why don't I remember?" he mused, more to himself than Anakin, then directed at the boy, "Why did we come here?"

"You were acting kind of funny," Anakin answered promptly, "And I was worried about you so I brought you home so you wouldn't be alone."

Obi-Wan's eyebrow lifted. "'Funny'?"

"Well, yeah. You don't remember, huh?"

Obi-Wan sighed, hating the nagging feeling that poked at him, demanding he remember what he had happened last evening. In reply to Anakin, he shook his head carefully, as if he could displace the memory of whatever was bothering him by simply shaking it out. There had been something . . . something that he should remember, should know . . . His last conscious memory had been working on a cooling unit for one of Watto's wealthier customers, but he had no clear recollection of what had transpired in the past few . . . well, however long he'd been out of it.

And there had been something else too though, in that time, two very separate somethings actually that he nearly feared to try and remember. The one he knew vaguely was the feeling of warmth and comfort that hovered in the background like a gentle memory, like the times he achieved completely peaceful meditation within the Force. The other 'something', however, hinted at shadows and pain and confusion, and made his already roaring headache want to spiral out of control.

"I don't know, Anakin," he finally admitted, bringing long fingers upward to rub weary circles at his temples. "I really haven't any idea."

Anakin wasn't completely convinced, bouncing from one foot to the other in his enthusiasm to help. "It seemed pretty serious - " he began, but Obi-Wan's sudden sharp look halted his further questioning. Not that the Jedi appeared to have the energy to do anything more than glare, but Anakin was perceptive enough to see that additional prodding would be quite unwelcome. Unfortunately, it was also obvious that this probably was actually Obi-Wan, and not a parasitic space slug. Anakin had to confess to being slightly disappointed.

"Um, okay, then," he offered with a small smile. "Hey, Mom's bringing breakfast - do you think you'll feel strong enough to go with Delian today?"

_Delian_? Obi-Wan's mind helpfully clicked the right piece of that puzzle into place. Oh. Right. The insane Corellian who wanted him to race for her even though he hadn't any idea how to race anything or anyone but his Master to the shower in the morning to see who would actually get the hot water - _**that**_ Delian.

Huh. Qui-Gon seemed to be on his mind a lot this morning. That was odd.

Besides, there was something slightly more pressing than his absent Master that demanded his attention. Obi-Wan's eyebrow flicked upward and his face crunched. "Umm ... Anakin, where are my clothes?" And, of more immediate panic - "Where's my lightsaber?"

"Your lightsaber's here. And so are your clothes; Mom washed 'em," Anakin informed him, suddenly reminded of why he'd come into the room in the first place. He began collecting his own clean clothing for the day. "They were awfully grimy."

"Uh, yes, I suppose they were," Obi-Wan admitted. He'd done his best to wash them in the tiny fresher in Watto's shop, but to be honest it hadn't turned out very well. You never really appreciated the modern conveniences in life until you had to go without them; things like clean clothing and - he sighed - hot water showers. "However, they're all I have, and as I most likely ought to leave this bed sometime today, I'll need them back."

The boy smiled. "Uh, yeah, I guess you probably will. Oh," he turned to gesture to the dark-haired woman who had entered the room bearing a covered tray, "this is my mom. Mom, this is Obi-Wan - Master Qui-Gon's Padawan." He announced Obi-Wan's title with some relish, obviously proud to have secured at least one kernel of information about the inner workings of the Jedi Order.

Obi-Wan, despite his long cultivated diplomatic poise, could think of absolutely nothing to say to this woman, Anakin's mother. His discomfort only increased as he realized that he was lying in bed mostly naked, and that she had been the one who had taken his clothes. It made for a rather awkward first meeting.

He tried a smile, but it wobbled just a little. "Obi-Wan Kenobi," he offered, hoping that it sounded sufficiently polite, but he faltered after his simple introduction over what to say next. 'Thank you for your hospitality'? 'I'm sorry, I have absolutely no idea where I am or what happened, but could I have my clothes back, please?' Actually, that one hadn't worked too well the last time he'd used it.

Fortunately, she saved him the trouble of saying anything else. "I'm Shmi Skywalker." Her expression and voice were filled with concern as she regarded him. "Are you feeling any better this morning?"

"Uh, yes, thank you." Obi-Wan was trying very hard to focus on what she was saying and not on the delicious scent wafting from the cloth-covered tray. It had been days since he'd had anything to eat but the odd mush that Watto favored, and though the ache in his head protested him doing anything but finding a dark corner to curl up in and hide from the rest of the galaxy, his stomach rumbled a noisy reminder that he was accustomed to eating . . . not mush.

But immediately feeling guilty for his obvious - albeit unexpected - intrusion into the Skywalker house, he hasted to add an apology. "I am so sorry. . . " The remainder of the sentence hung in the air because Obi-Wan had no idea how to explain what had happened when he didn't even know himself, but again, she rescued him with a nod.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." She settled the tray on a tiny workbench beside the bed. "Please eat this. It's not anything exquisite, but it will give you strength for the day. Anakin?" she directed toward her son, still hovering at the foot of Obi-Wan's bed, "run along to the shop and tell Watto what happened, please."

"But - "

"Tell him I'll be along in a moment," Obi-Wan interrupted, anticipating Anakin's hesitation. "You can keep Delian busy till I get there," he added with a tiny smile, and received one in return before Anakin obligingly scuttled off. Shmi also left him long enough for him to dress, but she had returned before he was halfway finished with the fresh fruits and spiced coffee she'd prepared. When she re-entered, Obi-Wan immediately noticed the change in her demeanor that signified she was troubled.

"You're Qui-Gon's apprentice." It was a statement, not a polite question to confirm Anakin's earlier announcement, and hung flatly in the still air between them. Obi-Wan glanced up from where he was seated cross-legged on the bed, the breakfast tray balanced across his knees.

"Yes," he said simply._ For the moment. _

"And do you," she continued, a hint of frostiness creeping into her tone and overriding the concern she'd displayed just moments earlier, "do you indulge in the same kind of risk-taking as your Master?"

Obi-Wan shifted, his blue-grey eyes narrowing as he surveyed the woman. It was a difficult question to answer since he wasn't fully aware of what Qui-Gon had done while in Mos Espa and in the Skywalkers' home. "A Jedi never indulges in risk for its own sake," he said softly, but with underlying steel in his voice. "But if the risk is absolutely necessary to an eventual success, then, yes, of course."

"And if it puts others in the path of harm," she continued, undeterred by his quiet answer, "what then, Jedi Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "A Jedi would place himself in harm's way before involving anyone else in a dangerous situation. It would be against the Code to not do so."

"But what if there were no other options? When is it right to allow someone else to take your place?" She was still calm, but there was an ache in her solemn eyes that betrayed the emotion behind her questioning.

"It's . . . it's never right," he answered, confused. He set the breakfast tray aside and rose to face her sincerely, a little wobbly on his feet but managing to stay upright. "There are times when it cannot be helped, when nothing else can be done - "

"And a child, then?" Her dark stare locked firmly with his, allowing him to easily read her own hurt and confusion. "When is it acceptable to risk the life of a child?"

_Oh_.

All of the fight left Obi-Wan as he saw with crystal clarity the track that Shmi's questioning followed. Suddenly, she was no longer a woman clinging to the notion that it was all right to risk her only child's life in a dangerous race because he had been meant to do so, meant to help Qui-Gon. Suddenly, she was the mother of a child who was hurting because he felt he'd failed the Jedi and his beloved Padmé when he'd lost the race.

But what could he say? He'd felt the same shock when Qui-Gon had introduced him to Anakin and Obi-Wan had seen that his Master had risked nearly everything on a child. Obi-Wan's broad shoulders slumped a little and his eyes closed. She felt, he realized, as lost and hopeless as he had that dark night when he'd questioned whether or not the Force had led him rightly - without a sense of duty to cling to, he'd nearly driven himself insane questioning and re-questioning his actions, Qui-Gon's actions, and the Force itself. He _**still**_ questioned it.

There was nothing he could say. Shmi's hand rested briefly on his arm before she rose and left him alone with his thoughts.

OOOOOOOOOO

He sighed and pushed his way back into the shop, noting with a grimace that Delian Ani-Suru had already arrived and was deep in conversation with Watto. She gave him a leer by way of greeting, but there was a hint of teasing in it that pulled any real lust from the intimation. The frank appreciation in her eyes, however, was a little harder for her to disguise - and he really doubted she tried, anyway. He threw a wary, stretched smile at her, and wandered over to check his list of assigned projects for the day. It was, as he'd expected, blank; apparently Delian's payment for his "services" provided Watto with much more compensation than any meager repairs or shop work that he could do.

Obi-Wan braced a hand against the counter and used the other to scrub futilely at his eyes. Damned headache. As if he didn't have enough to worry about without the constant distraction, Shmi Skywalker's pained gaze still lurked in his memory.

"Hey, hey, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan glanced down at a tug on the hem of his tunic into the bright eyes of Anakin Skywalker. There was a momentary oddness wherein he felt that something about Anakin was ... off but his worry subsided and he smiled a little when he realized that it was due to the fact that Anakin was, for once, still and quiet instead of the noisy, boisterous nine-year-old he was slowly adjusting to having underfoot.

"Obi-Wan, can I talk to you for a minute?" Anakin darted a quick look at where Watto and Delian continued to haggle over how much, exactly, Obi-Wan was worth in a monetary sense. "In, in, um, private?"

Obi-Wan, who had been unrepentantly trying to eavesdrop on the heated bartering taking place, was a little wary about leaving the safe distance of hearing range. "Sure," he agreed, a touch reluctantly, but he gamely followed Anakin to the tiny space that Watto had designated as the padawan's and settled down lightly next to Anakin on his cot. The makeshift bed creaked alarmingly under their combined weight and Obi-Wan winced, hoping it would hold together. The dirt floor was an incredibly unappealing place to sleep.

"What's on your mind, Anakin?" he asked, without trying to sound like he was hurrying the boy along. He could just make out Delian's strident tones and the monotone buzz of Watto, and he was admittedly morbidly curious as to what price they would decide to ... lease him for.

_Force_. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. How in the blazes had he managed to get himself into this situation? Things _**never**_ worked out in the simple, practical way he planned them. He certainly hadn't factored being "leased" to an insane Corellian in his original plan.

"Um, I'm not really sure how to say this, but, uh, ... " Anakin mumbled, looking down at his hands anxiously.

"Go on," Obi-Wan prodded. "I'm listening, Anakin, but I may not have much time," he reminded the boy gently.

Still Anakin refused to look at him, twisting his fingers nervously, playing with the hem of his pullover, scraping his boots across the floor - anything to keep from looking at Obi-Wan. "It's just, um, kinda important for you to do good in the Games, uh, if you can."

The uncharacteristic hesitation in the boy's voice finally pulled Obi-Wan fully from his eavesdropping on Watto and Delian and he directed his unwavering attention on Anakin. "Why?" he asked curiously.

"Because, because, um - "

"Anakin, look at me," Obi-Wan interrupted, carefully but firmly taking the boy's chin within his callused fingers and tilting it up so Anakin's dread-filled eyes reluctantly met his. "Now. Tell me what the problem is. I can't guarantee I'll play any of Delian's games."

_**Any**_ of them, he averred to himself resolutely. She may have won the first battle and secured Watto's agreement to rent him out - Force, how _**humiliating**_ - but he would _**not**_ permit her to treat him as if he were indeed, 'property,' as she had claimed earlier.

Anakin's expression contorted into rapid panic. "You have to! You have to, Obi-Wan!"

"Then tell me why, Anakin," Obi-Wan shot back firmly. "Tell me why."

"Because!" Anakin sighed explosively, but made a visible effort to look at Obi-Wan as he mumbled slowly, "Because Watto, um, heard what I said to Delian about you, about how good you would be in the Games and all, and ummm . . . "

"'And, ummm,' what?" Obi-Wan prompted.

"And he bet me in the race," Anakin finished quietly.

"You're playing in the Games?" Obi-Wan asked, stunned. From what little Anakin had known and all-too willingly shared, they were far from fit for . . . _Well, for anyone, really_, Obi-Wan's sensible voice kicked in, _and a child far less than a rejected Jedi Padawan_.

Anakin actually laughed at Obi-Wan's naïveté, and Obi-Wan felt a little insulted. "I don't understand, then," His brow scrunched. "What do you mean?"

"As a wager," Anakin explained carefully. "On you. If you win, I can stay here with Watto and he makes a lot of credits. If you lose," he hesitated, and forged on, "if you lose, they'll take me to the slave block and sell me to whoever bids the most. Please, Obi-Wan - please win! Mom would just die if they sold me without her, and I don't want to go, Obi-Wan - please." His wide eyes met Obi-Wan, and the earnest pleading in them tore at the young Jedi's heart. An unbearable weight settled over his shoulders and tightened around his chest as, in shock, he hopelessly surveyed the small face that begged him so desperately.

"Anakin, I . . . I'll do what I can," he finally promised. As he watched Anakin nod and slowly trudge away to start his morning work, Obi-Wan had to resist the urge to drop his head into his hands. Things were spiraling far beyond his control - how had he managed to bungle this up so badly? Was he really that incompetent? Was this how Qui-Gon had felt when Anakin had lost the podrace?

Delian meandered over, draping one hand over his arm. Anakin glanced over and swallowed hard, at the moment no longer interested in the woman, the Games, or even racing. Obi-Wan pitied the boy, but it was Anakin's unbridled braggadocio that had gotten them both into this predicament with Delian. And, Obi-Wan had to admit, his own frank comments to Delian during their initial meeting about not being able to provide what he needed had probably fueled her on as well. He should have known better than to say anything remotely competitive to a Corellian, and a gambling one on top of that.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin was before him again.

"Yes, Anakin?"

"I'm sorry I got you into this," the boy apologized, and even Delian's triumphant gaze softened a little.

"I'll take good care of him, sweetie," she promised. "You trust me, don't you?"

Anakin allowed a tiny grin and a nod. "Yeah, I do. Be careful - he gets grumpy."

Obi-Wan frowned, but cautiously, carefully, he dropped his hand onto Anakin's shoulder. It was a gesture he'd always treasured when given by his Master, and he hoped that it instilled some measure of confidence in Anakin, though he had none of his own. A flash of a memory from the night before slid through his mind and he smiled reassuringly at the boy as Watto handed over the transmitter to Delian. "It'll be fine, Anakin. Don't worry. And, Anakin?" He paused as Delian shepherded him toward the door, ignoring her indignant squeak of protest.

The boy's head lifted from his despairing slump.

"Yeah, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan allowed his smile to blossom into a teasing grin. "I'm really not an evil parasitic space slug. Just terribly stodgy."

Anakin's genuine burst of surprised laughter was as warming to Obi-Wan's heart as the bright sunlight he followed Delian into.

OOOOOOOOOO


	8. interlude

_TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass_

_By: Syntyche_

_interlude_

_Love. _

_What an entertaining, charming, and utterly revolting concept._

_The very idea that such a notion of a trite feeling toward another sparked violent warfare, drove beings to unparalleled heights, and inspired poets of countless races to pen tired, overused drivel on its seeming merits, was not a notion he had previously taken the time to consider._

_Maul had never thought much to reflect on the nature of "love" – he could barely think the word itself without a twisted, amused sneer – but now he found that once he had begun to mull the concept over in his mind, he was fascinated by the idea._

_And he had the Jedi to thank for his new preoccupation. How ironic._

_He knew where the Jedi Master's thoughts had strayed during his last moments, had heard the name he murmured. It was quite nearly laughable to imagine his own master, Sidious, breathing __**his**_ name before he died, wondering how _**he**_ fared, concerned, even as the Dark Lord's lifeblood stole from his fatal wound, that he was leaving his apprentice to face the trials and heartaches of life alone.

Maul smiled maliciously. The Jedi weren't nearly as emotionless as they pretended to be – at least not Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, whose last thoughts had been for no one but his apprentice. It was touching, really. And so Maul had held the Jedi Master's head in his lap, studied the noble face, and promised the dying Jedi that he himself would take _**very**_ good care of his Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It had been pleasing to see the terror in the Jedi Master's dimming eyes as Maul whispered his promise. It had felt good.

He had left the Jedi then, taking the lightsaber of his opponent and thinking it would be amusing to witness Kenobi's reaction to this physical confirmation of his Master's demise.

Love. Maul gave a delighted, theatrical shudder. How revolting.

His seeker droids had tracked the Padawan to Mos Espa, and his Interceptor would arrive within two days. Taking care of the queen and her Jedi escort had stolen him away from his other prey, but he tried to remain unconcerned; after all, Kenobi wasn't going anywhere. He would remain in Mos Espa, innocently awaiting the return of his master.

Innocent. It was amusing to think of Kenobi in that way. Innocently drowned in the Light, but not for much longer.

Not for much longer at all.

OOOOOOOOOO


	9. delian ani suru

Italics are flash-forward in time.

_TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass_

_By: Syntyche_

_chapter seven: delian ani-suru_

_Anakin._

_That was the name he'd been trying to remember. Of course._

_It was good, he supposed, that more and more things were starting to come back to him, but he still couldn't help his annoyance. Something important – critical – was skirting the edge of his reach, taunting and teasing him and playing with him as delightedly as if it were the Lady herself._

_He shuddered. He'd never thought that he would reach a point when he would actually beg for the Force to take him and spare him further torment and humiliation. It was almost amusing now, he sneered at himself disgustedly, that'd he always imagined somehow that when he was felled, it would be in the name of duty, lightsaber in hand, warrior's battle cry in his throat. Not this._

_Not this. Anything but this._

_His limbs were twitching and his stomach churned anxiously, and he whispered a furious imprecation at himself for actually wanting to hear her light footsteps draw near. Once, to punish him, she hadn't come at all; the withdrawal had been agonizing. But he had been good. He had. She would come._

_She would kill him in the end, and they both knew this. It was only a question of how long he would last. How fervently he hated Qui-Gon for not coming back. His fevered mind told him gleefully that he should have expected his Master to seize the opportunity to be rid of him, and he really didn't blame Qui-Gon at all. Moreover, if he'd failed at being perfect before, there was certainly no way he could come even remotely close now. Tears brimmed on his long lashes as he closed his eyes and leaned his head on one of his bare, dirty arms, bound tightly high above him. He'd fallen so far that perhaps it would be beyond even the compassion of the Council to take him back – and why should they? He was disgraced, discarded … used, dirty, and utterly humiliated. Even if they found it within themselves to be merciful and accept him as he was now, could he ever fit in with the Jedi way of life again?_

_His Master had abandoned him, left him to die in a filthy, vile manner, alone and unwanted. His vision swam for a moment and he could faintly see the outline of young Anakin, shrouded in dark and in anger, screaming for vengeance against a galaxy that had taken the one he loved. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, willing the image away, but it burned through his foggy mind with a clarity that refused to diminish. The Padawan couldn't keep the streams of tears from streaking down his face …_ _**it wasn't supposed to be this way**__… he had failed. It was his fault, somehow._

_It was his fault. He hadn't protected his Master, or Anakin. He couldn't even save himself. _

_It was his fault. He was responsible._

_"You promised," Despite himself and his earlier thoughts of Qui-Gon, his pained whisper slipped through to pierce the empty, frigid night air. "You promised you would come back... _

_Where are you?"_

OOOOOOOOOO

Delian Ani-Suru was full-blooded Corellian by birth, but she hadn't been born on her home planet – a fact she'd bitterly regretted since she'd been old enough to realize what that meant. The human people of Corellia, though lovers of the stars, loved their homesoil even more so and guarded their clans zealously; with near fanaticism they despised any Corelli who strayed long from hearth and home.

Delian's parents had left the wide-open spaces and green, rolling hills and pastures of Corellia for the bright lights and claustrophobia of the city-planet Coruscant, where Delian was born and raised. In her kinsmen's eyes, Delian and her family were outsiders, cautiously accepted but unwelcome and unfit to stand on the world that bore their heritage.

Delian had fallen in love with the simple, uncluttered beauty of Corellia when she had first visited the planet at age fourteen (Corellian, not Standard) to meet her grandparents and receive her Naming. Perceiving but not understanding the wariness that her extended family viewed her and her parents with, Delian tucked it away in the back of her mind as she was given her Name, wondering if she would ever understand the guarded standoffishness of even her beloved grandmother.

Too soon her parents returned with her to Coruscant, but the memory of her homeland stayed with her. Despite her repeated requests, her parents refused to take her back to Corellia; and so, just before her seventeenth birthday, Delian abandoned what she considered worthless schooling and training to stow away on a tourist vessel headed for Corellia.

Stepping onto the land of her heart once again, Delian swore to herself that she would never leave Corellia – until her extended family explained that, as an offworlder, she would never be openly welcomed into her family clan.

Finally realizing what the kindness of her parents had prevented them from telling her and too angry and ashamed to return to Coruscant, Delian took to her second love, the stars, becoming an outcast but forsaking the traditional Corellian practice of hiding her Name to prevent further shame to her family.

How she came to Tatooine she didn't say, but possessing the mechanical skills inherent to most of her clan and more than the usual helping of luck, Delian became a mechanic for Dirak Biggs, owner of one of the smaller racing garages near Mos Espa. By her wits, daring, and sheer insanity, Delian progressed from mechanic to racer, and now to part-time owner. She suspected that Dirak's obvious attraction to her had something to do with her swift promotion, but Delian had been too proud to cater to anyone or pay much attention to anything but her racing.

Until now, when she had suddenly been consumed by the inexplicable desire to be close to an out-of-place Jedi Padawan, bending all of her resources to attaining that one thing as she had not done since her longing for Corellia led her to leave Coruscant on a dream.

_But now that I have him,_ Delian Ani-Suru wondered as she and Obi-Wan Kenobi left Watto's shop, _what am I going to do with him?_

OOOOOOOOOO

Okay, so she really had no reason whatsoever to be strolling the streets of Mos Espa, but there was something delightfully exhilarating about walking around with Obi-Wan Kenobi in tow. And though a little tired and a little worn around the edges, he still looked absolutely gorgeous. Delian couldn't help – and didn't try to hide – her challenging smirk as they sauntered down the street. Well; she sauntered. He simply … moved in that incredible way that reminded her of a graceful predator confidently stalking its prey.

For that reason, she'd decided to slap a pair of binders on him to keep his hands where she could see them. She had no desire to lose control of a situation already precariously balanced in his favor; he made her decidedly flustered and weak in the knees.

She had to wonder if it was because he was a Jedi, because the men she was accustomed to hanging around made Jabba the Hutt seem absolutely gentlemanly by comparison, or simply because he was Obi-Wan Kenobi – she suspected all three, but primarily the third. He was the type you could feel absolutely sheltered by, and though as a Jedi he'd likely dined with queens and princesses from the richest Republic worlds, he'd not treated Delian Ani-Suru of backwater Tatooine as anything less than a lady – even when he'd caught her blatantly ogling.

Kenobi walked alongside her quietly, seemingly content to simply be outside the immediate range of Watto's shop. Delian absently toyed with the transmitter controls secured in her low-slung belt, basking in the glory of out-haggling the Toydarian. She wasn't exactly proud, however, of the thought of "owning" or even "leasing" Kenobi, and the measured glances he occasionally leveled her way weren't doing much to appease her conscience. She'd wanted him … had gotten him … but this wasn't really what she'd had in mind. And she wasn't sure that this particular way of going about it had exactly won his favor, either.

"We'll need to get you a suit," she mused aloud, to break the lengthening silence. Obi-Wan flicked her another steady glance but said nothing. "So I thought we'd look here before heading out to Eisley," she continued, deliberately ignoring the fact that he was basically ignoring _**her**_, "that fleahole's a tourist trap – as if this forsaken planet could even hope to cater to anyone but the desperate or those who don't know any better," Delian added as an aside. "We'll definitely get better prices here. You'll need a helmet, too."

"Mmhmm," Obi-Wan murmured vaguely, reaching his bound wrists upward to awkwardly shield his eyes from the glare of the early morning suns. She watched, feeling slightly discomfited about the binders but too proud to remove them now, and quickly redirected her gaze to the vendors lining the dirty road.

"So, which one are you?" he asked bluntly, ginger eyebrow quirking.

"Hm?" Distracted by a particularly loud merchant hawking warm, wonderful-smelling pastries, it took her a moment to place his question. "Oh, me?" She grinned affably. "I don't know any better."

Delian noticed that Kenobi was also aware of the vendor and was doing his best to keep a staid look pasted onto his wan face. The pastries looked fantastic, and the pilot fished into her jumpsuit pocket for a couple of credits, handing them over in exchange for two of the pastries. She bit into hers carefully and was pleasantly surprised to find the center filled with steaming, spicy meat of an origin she didn't care to know, and some local vegetables. It was really quite good. Obi-Wan mumbled something about it being 'damned better than gruel,' but she wasn't sure she wanted him to clarify. He was handling his breakfast a little awkwardly around the binders, but she knew he'd manage all right.

Delian sighed smally. This wasn't at all how she'd wanted things to be with Kenobi, but her pride wouldn't allow her to soften her guard. Determinedly, she slipped farther into her spacer's persona, drawing on years of experience operating under the harsh laws of Tatooine. She could play any game he wanted and win without even trying.

OOOOOOOOOO

Obi-Wan immediately sensed the shift in Delian's behavior. _Curious._

He'd been immensely grateful for the meal she'd unexpectedly purchased; it seemed like ages since Shmi's simple breakfast earlier that morning. _Apparently,_ Obi-Wan mused, _it doesn't harden in your stomach like Watto's disgusting, unhealthy gruel and keep you from wanting to eat for the rest of the day._

Obi-wan shifted slightly. He was developing a definite feeling that something was wrong, but there was still that persistent headache that clouded his senses. He rattled his chained wrists in irritation, feeling no small amount of humiliation at his current circumstances. He cleared his throat to catch Delian's attention, waiting until she glanced at him inquisitively before requesting quietly, "Listen, I need to use your comm – please?"

Delian shook her head and continued walking, her swagger becoming more pronounced and her voice slowing to almost a drawl. "Sorry, Slim, but I'm not one of the privileged few on this forsaken rock who has one."

"You don't have one?" Obi-Wan repeated incredulously. A thought occurred to him. "What about in the Z-95 Anakin's been talking about? Surely that's equipped with long-range communications equipment?" At her dark look, his sudden enthusiasm faltered. "Or not?"

Her glare could have softened permacrete. "I haven't installed it yet. I _**might**_ have it ready after the Games…" Delian trailed off, and there was a glint in her eye when she surveyed him again. "Long-range isn't cheap, you know. How would you be able to reimburse me if I found a way to install it more quickly?"

"The Jedi would compensate you appropriately for any expenses incurred on my behalf," Obi-Wan answered dryly.

"Good," Delian conceded with a self-satisfied nod. "On the other hand, you do well, hon', and I just might consider it a fair tradeoff."

"I make no guarantees," Obi-Wan warned honestly, and was surprised when Delian laughed.

"Bullshit," she announced profoundly, gazing ahead as they ambled down the street. Her gaze showed only the slightest hint of the wistfulness that came through in her voice. "You're Jedi. You'll guarantee anything I ask for, whether you can deliver or not – and if you can't, you'll die trying."

"Really?" Obi-Wan sounded almost amused. "You have some interesting ideas about the Jedi."

"Do I?" Delian retorted, her brown eyes narrowing. "You're here, aren't you?"

"I'm here because you … leased me," Obi-Wan pointed out matter-of-factly.

Delian snorted. "Nice try, love. I mean _**here**_, genius. On Tatooine, slaving away for Watto? You can't tell me you're undertaking some noble mission for the greater good of the galaxy by destroying a little kid's podracer because you don't know what the hell you're doing and playing with spanners in some forgettable little hellhole where nothing important is ever gonna happen – you couldn't convince me of that if you tried, and I'll just bet you're pretty convincing when you want to be," she eyed him speculatively with a snide leer. "So why are you here, Kenobi?"

"I'm working undercover to locate brassy Corellian women involved in illegal gambling and slave trading," Obi-Wan replied, sounding so damned honest she actually panicked for a moment before allowing a short laugh at her own expense.

"Well, I wouldn't know any," she offered off-handedly. "As for gambling, Kenobi, here it's a way of life. Authorities turn a blind eye to it – if they're not involved themselves, in which case they wouldn't be too eager to prosecute anyway."

Obi-Wan nodded. "And slave trading?" He watched Delian's fingers automatically feel for the transmitter from Watto that she had clipped to her belt. She had so far handled the transmitter as if it scorched her simply to touch it, and his brow furrowed. "Do you, umm, keep any slaves yourself?"

"Hell, no!" Delian appeared shocked by his question. "I don't believe in slavery."

Obi-Wan bit his lip, amused. "Oh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow slightly and jerking his manacled hands enough to again rattle the chain that bound them together.

"That's different," Delian defended. "I'm just … _**borrowing**_ you … for awhile."

"It's not different," he disagreed, shaking his head. The long braid he wore jostled loose to brush against his cheek as they walked; he brought his manacled wrists up to flick the braid back behind his ear with some difficulty. "It's not different at all."

Delian ignored him, choosing to continue their earlier line of conversation. "You're not undercover," she pointed out. "If you were undercover to infiltrate the Tatooine crime syndicate, the kid wouldn't have known you were a Jedi, and you wouldn't have been so quick to say that the Jedi would pay your bills, either."

"True," Obi-Wan agreed, allowing the conversation shift.

"So … No Jedi I've ever met in his right mind would voluntarily subject himself to this hellhole as slave. So why are you here, Kenobi?"

"I'm not in my right mind?" Obi-Wan guessed, his brow furrowing in mock confusion, but secretly wondering if that was indeed the case.

"I'd believe that," Delian scoffed, "but that's not it, either."

Obi-Wan snagged on something she'd said. "Have you met many Jedi?" he asked curiously.

"What?" Delian was momentarily thrown off by his taking over the questioning, and his gall irritated her. "A few," she answered shortly.

"Really?" Obi-Wan's eyebrow flicked upward. That was interesting. "How?"

"It's not important." She waved a hand airily.

"I'd like to know," he pressed. He offered a small smile. "I'd like to know where you've gotten all these ideas about the Jedi."

Delian stared at him for a long time as they walked. Finally, with a defiant tilt to her chin, she admitted, "I'm a Jedi reject, babe. The Force abandoned me a long time ago."

Obi-Wan was startled, his forehead automatically wrinkling as he thought about her bold statement. "The Force doesn't abandon people, Delian," he disagreed, daring to use her first name. "It – "

"Drop it, Kenobi," she interjected. "It abandoned _**me**_."

Obi-Wan fell silent, pondering this new revelation.

"Come on," she said tiredly, and just a touch angrily.

"Delian," he started hesitantly.

"Drop it, Kenobi," she repeated roughly.

"Delian, I'm sorry," he tried again.

"Damn it, just let it go!" she snapped with a snarl, ducking into a doorway suddenly and reaching out to snag his arm when he would have continued on.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out various types of flightsuits and gear made to fit several of the prominent species on Tatooine. Keeping a wary watch on the Corellian as she prowled through the racks of merchandise, Obi-Wan pondered Delian's words. A Jedi reject? Delian?

Obi-Wan wanted nothing more than to drop his head into his hands and meditate for a damned long time. He wished again for Qui-Gon's presence – at this point, he'd even submit willingly to Yoda. The tiny Master's garbled sentences were far easier to understand than everything that was going on now. And he couldn't shake the feeling that this was all wrong somehow.

He reached out careful mental fingers for his Master, searching vainly for the warm presence that had never been so hard to find – again he bumped into that cloying, fuzzy numbness. What was going on? Why couldn't he think? And why didn't the Force respond to his repeated pleas?

Despite himself, Obi-Wan heard Delian's earlier words echo in his mind. _A Jedi reject_. This time Obi-Wan gave in and dropped his head into his open palms. The chain on the manacles jingled softly, grating into any hopes he might have had about imagining he were somewhere else.

Quickly Obi-Wan banished the thought from his mind. He had not been rejected. Qui-Gon wouldn't leave him here any longer than was necessary to complete their objective. Now was not the time to be second-guessing his connection with the Force, his mind was simply unclear and he was tired. And he couldn't get rid of the terrible headaches. Those were the things that were obstructing his attempts at meditation, nothing more.

As soon as he could, he would find time to clear his mind and focus.

OOOOOOOOOO


	10. a jedi and a girl like me

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter eight: a jedi and a girl like me

Her thoughts, she was chagrined to admit, had taken an unexpectedly philosophical turn, and that disturbed her. Still, she mulled them over distractedly and tried to discover exactly what it was that was plaguing her. After all, she had more credits than she could realistically spend in her lifetime. She had all the swoops, speeders, and racers her little heart desired, and the time to play with them all. She lived by her own schedule, did what she wanted, saw who she wanted, and pissed off who she wanted. She should have been content.

… She was content, wasn't she?

Delian Ani-Suru bit her lip in momentary thought as she pondered. Was there something missing in her life, some deep, essential factor that would make her complete, whole, happy?

"I'd be much happier if you kept your eyes on the road, you know."

Obi-Wan Kenobi's eyes were closed, his head tipped back against the passenger seat's headrest. His breathing was deep and even and she'd thought he was asleep. She had enjoyed stealing glances at his serene features and the thought that he'd been awake the entire time rankled her.

"Delian?"

Somehow, he managed to convey a very calm sense of urgency; she wondered if the ability was Jedi, or just Obi-Wan. Delian glanced out the speeder window, muttered a startled curse, and jerked the steering wheel hard to the right to keep from smashing into a slow-moving, heavy-laden skiff that lumbered along in front of her.

_I meant to do that,_ she thought automatically, Corellian pride kicking in. "I thrive on near-death experiences," she informed her passenger loftily – but making it a point to keep a closer eye on the road even as she grumbled under her breath about stodgy Jedi who couldn't take a few risks.

"That's good," Obi-Wan replied calmly, despite the fact that his side of the speeder had come quite close to missing a considerable amount of paint. "Considering the way you drive. I could drive, you know."

"You can drive me – " Delian started to say, but at his sharply raised eyebrow she sighed and cut her intended double entendre. "Oh, come on," she breathed out a frustrated sigh. "You're so … so sour. And you were right – you _**are**_ stodgy."

He actually had the nerve to look a little wounded at that. "I'm not always stodgy," he protested, straightening up in his seat. "Just … um, most of the time," he confessed with a slight smile.

"Well, I look forward to seeing your _**un**_stodgy side," Delian mumbled wryly, and a wide, mischievous grin spread across her tanned face as she lifted bright eyes to him, the corner of her mouth curling upward in her most enticing _come-hither-baby_ smirk. "Or anything else you feel like showing," she purred, a touch over-dramatically and fighting a laugh that was abruptly cut short by Kenobi's reaction.

"Your eyes are going to roll out of your head if you keep that up!" she snapped irritably.

Wounded, the Corellian turned back to her driving, sighing crossly at herself for somehow allowing the growing desire hidden untidily behind her humorously-proffered proposition.

"It wouldn't be _**that**_ bad, would it?" she questioned herself softly, trying to squelch the quiet longing she heard in her voice. "A Jedi and a girl like me … ?"

OOOOOOOOOO

As the small town of Mos Espa faded into the sandblown horizon behind them, Obi-Wan tried to keep his mind from wandering the well-worn paths that he'd been over time and again since he'd struck a deal with Watto and Qui-Gon had signed on the line and sold his freedom away.

His heart was heavy and he could sense the way before him growing darker and more confusing with every passing moment, but in _**this**_ moment, with the wind whistling past his face as Delian careened down the barely distinguishable packed-down sand that passed for a small settlement's travel corridor, he simply wanted to enjoy the feel of the sun on his face and forget that he was, at the moment, tired, dirty, and unshaven; wanted to ignore the continued faint itch of the transmitter embedded in his thigh; and wanted to forget that Qui-Gon hadn't returned yet – though he couldn't forget that Anakin's freedom to stay with his mother rested with him, or that there was that odd fuzziness in the Force that wasn't quite right. It was like a touch of artificial light in place of the warm, Unifying Light he was accustomed to knowing, as if he stood inside a dark room with a dim lamp on instead of bathing his weary soul in the suns' glorious warmth.

But maybe he was just tired. Maybe it was because things hadn't turned out quite as he'd expected them to. Obi-Wan considered. Perhaps when Qui-Gon returned, he would tell him that he actually understood a little better now how quickly plans could change, and he'd apologize. After all, it wasn't really his place to disagree with his Master.

"What are you thinking about?" Delian called over the roar of the wind. Apparently she'd gotten bored and decided to quit ignoring him.

They'd made it past the outskirts of the settlement and she'd opened the throttle on the tiny speeder. Obi-Wan watched scenery whip by at an alarming rate. _I'm going to die,_ he thought calmly. _I'm going to die smeared on the side of some sand dune_. It wasn't really a bad way to go, all things considered, but somehow it wasn't quite what he'd pictured his death would be like. He'd really hoped it would be a little more noble.

"Getting out of this speeder so I can live to see tomorrow," he called back, squinting against the wind. "Any chance of that?"

Delian laughed, but the sound was stolen away by the roar of the wind. "Now, why would you want to do that?" she asked, pulling her eyes from the road to glance at him questioningly, although, if actually possible, Obi-Wan thought he felt the speeder accelerate.

_This is suicide_, he thought. _Of all the bad decisions I've made lately, going with her was the worst_. Never mind that he hadn't much of a choice in the matter. "Get out of the speeder?" he shouted.

"Nah," she replied flippantly, "see tomorrow. Your life is miserable; face it. Well, except for the fact that you're mine now – "

"Temporarily," he interrupted firmly as the speeder swerved suddenly for no apparent reason. _I'm going to die._ "Really, I could drive – "

"But why?" Delian pressed, ignoring his repeated offer to pilot the tiny speeder. "What would you do tomorrow that you haven't already done in your life? Besides, you're a Jedi."

Obi-Wan was growing increasingly nervous of the way she kept moving her eyes from the sandy 'road' to glance at him. He wasn't opposed to their speed – just the fact that he wasn't in control. And neither, it seemed alarmingly to him, was Delian.

"Isn't it your lot in life to suffer, suffer some more, and then die gallantly in battle somewhere?" she added knowingly.

"No," Obi-Wan retorted, "I think you left out a couple of 'suffer's; besides, I'll never make it that far: I'm going to die in this speeder today."

"But, Kenobi," Delian persisted, "that's it, isn't it? That's what you're expected to do as a Jedi."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "It could be worse."

Delian groaned. "Oh, Kest, you said it. You're in trouble now."

Obi-Wan was confused. "Said what?"

Delian didn't reply, but he did notice that she was now keeping a closer watch on her driving. Bemused, he repeated his words to himself softly – "it could be worse," – but couldn't fathom any reason for her reaction. Eventually he shrugged it off.

_Must be a Corellian thing._

OOOOOOOOOO

"What's _**this**_?"

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, a warm crimson flush crawling across his cheekbones. He had to fight the desire to drop his eyes to the floor in embarrassment, and he felt his shoulders tense in sudden shamed tightness.

He reached hesitantly out to touch the Force, encountered nothing, and felt more alone than before. He wanted nothing so much as to run, away from this horrid, hated place, into the desert, just to run and hide. To find the Force, his Master, and the scattered pieces of his life. To piece back together the shards that had developed in just a few short weeks – how had all of his careful training and studies, years and years, gone to hell after so soon a time alone?

_Why_, he asked himself again, _am I so empty?_

His manacled wrists bumped together as he unconsciously tried to hide them from view. _Do not forsake the Force, whether it is silent or no. _He lifted his eyes and began to respond to the disgusted question – but the Corellian by his side beat him to it.

"_**This**_ is our new mechanic, Obi-Wan Kenobi," Delian informed the man standing before them haughtily. "And he's racing for me in the Games."

Dirak Biggs eyed Obi-Wan disdainfully. Though he was not by nature unkind, something about the young man standing next to Delian immediately sparked his distrust. It may have been nothing more than the way she looked at Kenobi, but Biggs was an insecure man, and the thought of the woman he openly adored so obviously taken by this …. this _**slave**_, lent a roughness to his usually calm voice.

"Is he any good?" he questioned brusquely, realizing at once that he should have known better than to put such a question to his Corellian business partner. She took a certain delight in teasing him and though he knew this, he could never stem his immediate, envious reaction.

She didn't disappoint, of course.

"He's _**very**_ good," Delian emphasized, with a smirk in her voice that made Obi-Wan uncomfortable and – despite himself – Dirak felt his skin warm with anger and a flash of jealousy. Delian seemed pleased with their mutual discomfiture, and her smile widened.

"You just worry about yourself, sweetness, and I'll handle _**this**_," she told Dirak in a sugary voice, grinning all the while.

"Yes, I bet you will," he muttered, glaring daggers at Obi-Wan, who pointedly ignored him. "Slave slime," he snorted softly, brushing past them brusquely. "I'll see you tomorrow, Delian."

"Good night, Dirak," she said so mock sweetly that he actually turned to throw Obi-Wan a final glare before stalking off.

Obi-Wan was left with the impression that Biggs would have spat on him if Delian weren't standing there. He willed down the shame he felt, slowly reminding himself that he was above this, that it wouldn't be much longer before Qui-Gon would come back and this bizarre ordeal would be over.

_It will all be over_, he repeated to himself, and wondered why he felt a cold, prescient shiver race up his spine uncomfortably.

"Friend?" he asked the Corellian in an undertone, trying to shake off the sudden chill that had settled over him gloomily.

She shrugged. "Business partner."

Obi-Wan's eyebrow lifted. "Pleasant," he commented offhandedly.

Delian frowned thoughtfully. "Usually," she agreed. "Maybe you just have that effect on people, Kenobi. They're not sure if they hate you or love you."

Her tone struck him as odd when she said this, and he glanced down at her. She was looking at him closely, her eyes traveling over his face; as she did this, her head tilted slightly and she leaned closer to him, close enough that he caught sight of something unusually sad warring with the wanting in her dark eyes.

Then she blinked a couple of times and seemed to shake off whatever mood had taken her. With a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder, Delian maneuvered him into a midsize garage lined with row upon row of swoops and speeders. At any other time, he might have been thrilled and eager to look around, but now his stomach burned in a tight knot.

_Over … _

The word echoed in his mind, and he couldn't get away from the deep, hate-filled voice that seemed to be whispering in his head. It sounded familiar but different, and he puzzled at it.

"Hey," Delian's voice shattered his reverie as she jabbed him sharply in the ribs. "Are you with me, or what?"

Obi-Wan blinked owlishly, shaking off the phantom voice and trying to focus on the woman. "What … ?"

"Never mind," Delian said shortly, sounding annoyed – with him or herself, he wasn't sure. "Follow me."

His transmitter controls jangled on her belt as she led him up a narrow staircase at the back of the garage. With a flourish, she pressed the button to open the door at the top; Obi-Wan could see over her shoulder a small lounge with a table in the center and a few doors leading to other rooms beyond. The space was spartan but clean.

"This is where the mechanics stay," Delian explained quickly. "And where you can sleep for as long you're here." She gestured inside. "There's a fresher, first door to the left. We have a little bit of work to do with what's left of the day; you can get cleaned up when we're finished. For now, toss your bag onto an empty bunk and come down to the garage so you can get acquainted with your new lady."

Obi-Wan nodded his gratitude. "Thank you."

Delian snorted as she fumbled with the binders on his wrists, finally snapping them open and sighing softly at the marks where the binders had chafed against his skin. "Don't thank me yet. You mess up in the Games and I'll have you sleeping with the neks, sweetheart."

He grinned at her wryly. "Couldn't be much worse than my accommodations at the junk shop – and probably cleaner, too."

He heard her laugh as she made her way back down the stairs, and then the door slid closed, leaving him alone for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Had it been weeks? Force, he didn't even know anymore. It couldn't have been more than, what, one week, maybe two since he'd started working for Watto? What was it he'd heard Qui-Gon say time and again with that particularly wry look on his face?

"Time flies when you're having fun," he murmured quietly, and smiled at the thought of Qui-Gon. _I miss you, Master. We're not as close as we once were …too many differing opinions … yet I miss you nonetheless. I wish that I knew where you were—I wish I had your connection to the Living Force so I might be able to __**find **__you. I should be able to reach you …. _

"Kenobi?" Delian's questioning voice rang up the stairwell. "You're not getting away from me that easily! We've got work to do!"

Obi-Wan sighed.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Delian?"

_Oh, what now?_

All right, maybe she shouldn't have teased Biggs so, but that was no reason for him to come back and bother her tonight when she had so much to do. Unless he was keeping secrets about his past life, Delian was pretty sure that Kenobi had no idea what to expect from the Demolition Games, and she had less than two days to get him ready.

Besides, she was still feeling a little in the wrong for 'leasing' him. She really didn't need her backwater business partner lecturing her on her apparent leap to the Dark Side.

_The Dark Side,_ she intoned menacingly, and felt a little guilty about that, too.

"Yes, Dirak?" she mumbled, moving to the workbench to collect one of her toolboxes so she wouldn't have to meet the accusation in his flashing brown eyes. _Anytime, Obi-Wan_, she directed the thought toward the stairway. Not to drag him into the middle of their personal dispute, but maybe Dirak would drop his silly display of envy if Obi-Wan entered.

Thinking back on the way Dirak had acted when she'd first brought Obi-Wan in, however, she doubted it.

Biggs didn't bother with a preamble. "What are you doing? Why did you bring him here?"

Delian fell back on her earlier excuse. "I need a mechanic, I told you – "

"Please," Dirak snorted. "We have an entire staff of mechanics, Del. I don't think that's it at all." His eyes were cold and she could see the jealousy that burned within them, stabbing her with icy tendrils of anger and suspicion as his voice dropped to a snarl. Surprising herself, Delian felt her hand involuntarily tighten around the heavy hydrospanner in her fist. "Do you have to _**pay**_ for someone to warm your bed, Delian? You had to buy yourself a pretty little manslave for these cold desert nights?"

Delian made what she felt was a heroic attempt to keep her temper in check as her cheeks heated and her eyes blazed in anger. "Dirak, that's enough." She leveled her chin at him, glaring. "Jealousy doesn't become you."

"If I'm jealous it's your fault!" he spat back, turning away from her and pacing in angry short circles. "You bring him here – parade him around! Who are you toying with, him or me?" He abruptly stopped pacing, turning smartly to face her. "I took you in when you had nothing, Delian, _**nothing**_! I would think that would at least earn me the right to be treated with some respect," he hissed in irritation.

Delian glowered, her ire up. "I've repaid you time and again, Biggs, for everything. Don't give me this tired bullshit about what I owe you, because it's nothing! I don't owe you a damn credit and if you think I'm suddenly gonna behave and treat you all proper 'cause you're feeling jealous of Kenobi, I'm sorry, hon', you're wrong," she growled, shaking the hydrospanner at him as she emphasized her words.

"Damn you stubborn Corellian!" Biggs swore, now sounding more frustrated than angry. "What the _**hell**_ is wrong with you, Delian? A slave? Since when is that okay by you?" Finally coming to the crux of the issue, Biggs' agitation increased tenfold. "Since he's got a pretty face and a Core world accent? Are we feeling just a bit lonely, 'cause I sure as hell can't think of any other reason _**you**_ would need a slave – _**or**_ a mechanic for that matter," he declared smartly.

"I … " …_can't think of anything to say. Damn it!_ Delian thought snarkily, more pissed off about lacking a retort than Biggs' harsh comments. "Go away, Dirak," she snapped. "I've got work to do!"

"Yeah, I'll bet you two do," he shot back snidely, with a leer. "Good night, then."

She didn't bother to reply. Fuming, Delian threw the hydrospanner she'd been gripping at the far wall, barely missing Kenobi as he entered. Her encounter with Biggs left her feeling even more guilty, which in turn made her angrier.

"Never mind!" she practically shouted at Kenobi's inquisitive look.

Kenobi regarded her curiously, ignoring her ire. "I didn't say anything."

"Just never mind!" she shot back irritably. "We'll make this brief and then you can get cleaned up." She thought he seemed warily pleased by that, but it did little to assuage her angry petulance.

She worked to focus on the Games as Obi-Wan prowled around the garage under her watchful eye, examining curiously the many swoops, speeders, and assorted vehicles the Corellian had amassed during her illustrious and successful career. He stopped briefly in front of her new Z-95, glancing into the open cockpit long enough to verify there indeed were not any signs of functioning long-range equipment before moving on to the bike that had initially caught his captivated eye – a glossy black one-man speeder.

"The object, as with nearly all competitive games, is to win," Delian mumbled, trying to ignore her guilt, irritation – and that damned desire to be right next to Kenobi, "preferably by cheating, but only if you can do so without getting caught." She pulled up maps of the arena, which was actually nothing more than a large expanse of territory cordoned off near the Dune Sea. Delian tried to focus on the various scenarios Obi-Wan would encounter in the arena without getting distracted. _Come on,_ she implored herself, _focus, damn it!_

Obi-Wan looked intrigued as he glanced up from the speeder. "You're an expert at this, I take it?"

Delian pulled a face. "I didn't make my fortune by selling Wookiee cookies, sweetheart."

Obi-Wan wasn't quite certain he got the analogy, but he shrugged anyway. It was far easier to just nod than to attempt any actual sort of logic with Delian. It was an amusing and maddeningly irritating trait she possessed, insanity.

Delian forgot her annoyance for one moment as she regarded him thoughtfully, watching him admire the bike. "You like?"

"It's gorgeous," Obi-Wan admitted freely, one long-fingered hand reaching out to gently stroke the sleek body as frank appreciation shone in his tired eyes.

Delian swallowed hard, unsure of why, but decided that being angry was a much safer place to be and tried to retain her ill-humor. "Indeed she is," she agreed, "but I need you to redirect your attention this way, Mighty Jedi, and check out these quicksand pits that're gonna be all over the course…. Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan's attention was still on the speeder. "I'll know where they are," he murmured, peering into the open engine compartment.

"Really?" Delian bit out skeptically, her gaze involuntarily arrested to his movements.

"Mmhm."

"What about the Tusken sharpshooters? I'm not sure what the hell they think they're doing, but they're a damned nuisance."

"I'll know where they are," Obi-Wan repeated distractedly, grey eyes skimming over the dials and gauges.

"How?" Delian asked flatly, wondering if he was just trying to blow her off. The thought annoyed her, adding to the frustration which was rapidly coming to a head. She had _**leased**_ him, for Kest's sake – he'd damned well _**better**_ pay attention to her! And while she was at it, damn Biggs and his damn condescending attitude and damn Kenobi for being so damn unattainable! She wanted to hurt him, wanted to bring him to her level, just … _**wanted**_ him and that alone made her angrier than she could remember being in a long time; and it felt in the back of her mind like something was fueling her on, driving and feeding her ire, sharpening her words to wound as bitterly as she could.

"Listen, Kenobi," she said softly, dangerously, "for the next few days, you're _**mine**__._ That means that from now on you'll do as I tell you, and damn it, you'll pay attention when I'm talking to you. So tell me, how in hell are you gonna know about these things? Some Jedi trick, or are you just that damned cocky? I certainly hope it's the latter," she sneered, "because I sure as hell haven't seen anything Jedi-like about you yet – maybe it abandoned you too, Kenobi, so damned high and mighty you think you are, above all of this! You're no better than any of us – hell, you'll probably rot in this place as a damned slave!" Delian gasped as her tirade ended, hating the words that had slipped from her mouth. Obi-Wan stared at her, shock written across every centimeter of his face. For a long moment, they simply looked at the other, then Delian's eyes closed in sudden revulsion. What the hell was wrong with her?

"Get out," she whispered.

"Delian – "

"Get the hell _**out**_, Kenobi!" she ground out. Bitterly, she unhooked from her belt the transmitter Watto had given her to control the Jedi, snapped the device off, and flung it angrily into a corner.

OOOOOOOOOO


	11. maybe the worst is behind

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter nine: maybe the worst is behind

oooooooooo

_I'm so green, it's really amazingI'm so clean, too bad I can't get all the dirt off of me.I'm so sane, it's driving me crazyIt's so strange, I can't believe itFeels just like I'm falling for the first time._

BNL, "Falling for the First Time"

oooooooooo

At the noise of the transmitter clattering against the wall, Obi-Wan turned back, his wan face concerned. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly. "Delian?"

"No, I'm not all right," she responded quickly with a sharp, harsh laugh. Her cinnamon eyes were hard but suspiciously narrowed, and there was a slight crack in her tone that he was surprised – and not at all surprised – to hear. Lacking her confident swagger, Delian abandoned the maps on the table and slowly came down to stand beside him, close enough that she could smell the dirt and sweat that clung to his lean frame.

How far she'd fallen in a matter of days. Not so long ago she'd been championing her own self-righteousness as she looked down on the slaveholders and traders.

A few days before, she'd proudly told the man before her that she didn't keep slaves.

Yesterday, she had reminded him that she and Watto could do with him as they pleased.

Today, she had assumed ownership of Obi-Wan Kenobi and treated him as nothing more than … property. A possession. Her possession. The look in Dirak's eyes as she'd proudly led Kenobi in burned into her.

Delian suddenly felt like she was about to throw up. "Please go away," she mumbled forlornly, and she was disappointed and more than a little pissed off despite herself when he actually obeyed and left quietly. "Bastard," she muttered.

"I heard that," came Kenobi's amused voice from the darkened hall, irritating her further.

"Bastard!" she shouted louder, and felt a little better. Sarcasm she was much more comfortable with than guilt. "Don't you know anything about women?" she bit out sharply.

Kenobi reappeared in doorway with a wry smile. "It was my understanding that most individuals prefer to be listened to, but by your tone I assume that's not the case with you?"

Delian snorted, inching farther away from her shamed feelings. "Sarcasm, sweetheart. Let me let you in on a secret that will vastly improve your life: when a woman tells you to go away, nine times out of ten she wants you closer and comforting."

"Ah," Kenobi nodded sagely, and then that eyebrow went up again curiously. "Me?"

"What?"

"Are you saying that she wants _**me**_ closer, or is this just a generic scenario?" Kenobi explained patiently, moving futilely like he was trying to tuck his hands into his tunic sleeves, only the tapered sleeves weren't wide enough to accommodate him. Apparently giving up, he settled for crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded her quizzically.

_I hate you_, Delian thought, and wished she meant it. A tiny sigh escaped her before she could help it. "If it was you, love, it would be all ten times and then some."

Obi-Wan nodded again, a small smile tugging at the corner of his full mouth. "I see. Thank you for the clarification, though your logic is mathematically confusing."

"'Thank you for the clarification'," Delian mocked him teasingly. "So damned polite." She sighed, a little heavier this time, wishing she could keep her ill humor. It seemed to keep him at a much safer distance and helped maintain her composure, but he was so … sincere, and good-natured despite his circumstances, that it made it difficult not to respond in kind.

"Thanks," she offered quietly, honestly, catching his gaze with her own and seeing that he understood. "You're a weird one, Kenobi," she said, amazed. "Are you always so calm about taking the shit life doles your way?"

"No," he replied, "I have therapy sessions four times a week."

Delian almost laughed … but she wasn't sure if he was joking. Kest, if his time with her was any indication, it was probably true. She _**liked**_ Kenobi and she was tormenting him. She couldn't imagine how the people who _**hated**_ him treated him. "Well, I'm sorry you've had to miss them," she said mock-consolingly. "I wouldn't want you to fall behind on discovering your true mission in life. Unless," she added with what she'd hoped was an innocent smile, "this is your mission."

He smiled tightly, tiredly, surprising her enough to drop the last shreds of sarcasm she'd tried to cover herself with and ask the question that had been on her mind since she'd first seen him outside Watto's shop, first felt the stirrings of … something … nudging at her.

"What are you doing here, Kenobi? You're here for a purpose – and I'll just bet it's not working for Watto or even racing for me. Want to give me the odds on it? I'm a betting woman." She looked him hard in the eyes. "Do you want to tell me why you're here, and just what it is that shutters those beautiful blue eyes of yours? 'cause I'll listen, sweetheart."

Obi-Wan hesitated, giving her the impression that he really didn't want to answer her query. Slowly, though, he murmured softly, "I can't tell you anything, Delian. I …. I need the use of a long-range comm station. I have to get a message to Coruscant."

Despite herself, Delian gave a low whistle. "Coruscant? Holy hells, Kenobi, you know what you're asking for? There isn't a comm on this entire damn _**planet**_ that'll get you that far." She shook her head. "I'm afraid you're out of luck, honey – and as Corellian, I hate to say that. But Coruscant? Kest," she mumbled in disbelief. A thought occured to her. "Don't you have a … a Jedi mind link-thingy with anyone that you could try, or something like that?"

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, about to say something, then shook his head sharply, looking for all the worlds like he was beginning to regret stepping back into the room. "No, I don't."

Delian paused, looking at him hard, but he could see that she was searching her mind for something. Carefully she asked, "Are you a Jedi Knight?"

"Not yet," Obi-Wan sighed. _Not ever_, his voice whispered in her mind and she shuddered at the aching sadness in his tone. It took her a moment to realize she'd heard him in her head, and that startled her.

"You are … ?" she stumbled to say, regarding him oddly.

"An apprentice."

Delian eyed him skeptically, trying to brush his presence from her thoughts. "You must've really pissed off your master to get left here."

He smiled cynically, regret twisting his blue-grey eyes. "Something like that," he agreed.

Another thought popped into her mind. "Well, where exactly is your Master? Does he, um, approve of what you're doing here? Or is this some sort of test?"

Obi-Wan shook his head quickly. "It's not a test, no. It is merely a … temporary arrangement."

Delian grinned, almost mockingly. "My, my, my. And I bet you didn't factor meeting me into your 'arrangements,' did you, Apprentice Kenobi?"

Naked honesty flashed through his wounded eyes, surprising her. "I didn't factor any of this," he said, his tone low and deep and brooking no room for further comment.

Delian turned away awkwardly, searching for something … anything … to ease the sudden tension. Her eyes fell upon the speeder Kenobi had been eyeing earlier and she felt her spirits lift. "I think you need a little playtime, Kenobi."

"Excuse me?" He sounded shocked, and maybe a bit scandalized.

She grinned, hooking an arm through his and pulling him along. "Don't get your Jedi knickers in a twist," she sniffed, then turned back to look up at him charmingly, with her favorite leer. "Unless you want some help getting out of them." Sniffing disdainfully at his uprolled eyes, she led him to the speeder, pressing him towards it encouragingly. "Have fun."

"You're letting me take her out?" he asked incredulously, a hint of delight fleeting across his wan features and Delian knew she'd made a good choice.

"I've got your promise you'll bring her back, right?"

"Without a scratch," he agreed, running his long fingers lightly over the speeder's glossy body.

"Then I know you will," she smiled crookedly, "because I know that Jedi value their word as binding."

Obi-Wan returned her smile, bringing a sudden blush to her cheeks. "Delian, I think that's the first thing you've gotten right about the Jedi."

She toggled the switch to open the bay doors and waved him out, laughing despite herself.

OOOOOOOOOO

The wind screamed past his ears as Obi-Wan tore across the desert, racing through the twilight away from his loneliness and the horrid, unrelenting ache in his heart that bit into him every quiet moment he had. He wanted to meditate, to release his anxieties to his beloved Force, but there was something that was holding him back that he just couldn't pinpoint.

Obi-Wan increased the tiny speeder's acceleration, trying to outrun the tormented, confused maelstrom of thoughts and emotions that raged through him.

Not surprisingly, he couldn't.

One thought surfaced above the others, surprising him. He'd turned to look back at Delian as she'd opened the bay doors for him and in that moment, he felt he saw her, to his surprise, as she really was – light-hearted, beautiful, possibly insane, caring. Then her Corellian side took over and returned the mercenary glint to her eyes – along with a frank appreciation for the way he gently straddled the speeder.

Shaking his head ruefully, Obi-Wan steered the swoop through the open desert, marveling that the two halves of Delian Ani-Suru were so completely different, yet meshed together so well. She was an enigma, though she certainly made no effort at hiding her attraction to him. It was almost painful to witness, though Obi-Wan knew he couldn't encourage her. Not now.

Not when he was so damned confused himself.

The problem, however, was that her essence had somehow wrapped herself around his thoughts.

The problem was that he could sense the Force whispering to him gently, though from achingly far away.

The problem was the distant impression of terrified voices suddenly going silent and the dark whisper that had begun to taunt him, steadily growing stronger, closer.

The problem, too, was that a little boy's ability to stay with his mother was entrusted to his incapable care.

And he wondered, oddly, why it so often felt so clearly that the weight and fate of worlds rested on his shoulders.

OOOOOOOOOO

She knew that she was dreaming, but that didn't seem to help.

_She could still feel the adrenaline coursing through her body, could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Knew that she was already dreading what she would find in the last room as her feet propelled her towards the doorway. _

_Don't go into the room, Delian. _

_Don't go inside._

_She stepped inside. _

_Blurred shadows from indistinct shapes crowded her vision, but she pressed forward, somehow knowing exactly where to go._

_A woman waited there for her, and she could feel the hatred and malice pulsing from her. Delian ignored her, her eyes drawn to the floor and a heap of torn flesh and clothing, smeared red … there was red everywhere … Delian knelt down slowly, swallowing hard as she placed her hand amidst the crimson, searching. Her breath hitched when under her shaking palm she felt a ragged breath, and then another. The blue-grey eyes she loved were nearly swollen shut, the soft ginger hair now longer, matted and tangled. _

_Obi-Wan. _

_She thought she might have been crying, and strained to hear the words of his voice in her head. She realized that it was just one word he was repeating softly to himself, sounding greatly relieved, as it echoed in her mind:_

_Over… _

Delian's eyes snapped open, and she was already throwing off the covers, telling herself to be calm – _be calm, damn it!_ – as she strode to the speeder garage, with every step her breathing seemed louder and louder until she was running, up the stairs, through the door to his bunk –

Kenobi was sleeping. He looked worn and ragged, even in the innocence of sleep, the hollows under his eyes more pronounced by the pale starlight shining through the small window. But he was here. Whole. Unharmed. She knew it would wake him if she touched him, so she simply stared, caressing with her eyes the ginger hair, the perfect face, the strong body.

He was still here.

"Thank you," she whispered.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Enjoy your little trip last night, sweetheart?" she asked him lightly that morning, her dream still haunting the edges of her mind.

"Thank you, yes," his voice was soft as always, and for a moment she simply relished the sound of it. _Kest, Delian, you're pathetic, _she scoffed at herself. _You have fallen so damn hard you can't even see the tops of his boots. _

"Good," she nodded. "We have a lot of work to do today to get you ready." Delian rolled her bright brown eyes expansively. "I don't know what I was thinking, using an untrained pilot." She caught Obi-Wan's amused look as he opened his mouth and she knew that he was about to tell her exactly what she'd been thinking. "Never mind!" she interjected sharply, grinning wryly at him. "Forget it."

"Of course," he agreed readily and without further comment, for which she was glad.

oooooooooo

_Anyone perfect must be lying, anything easy has its costAnyone plain can be lovely, anyone loved can be lostWhat if I lost my direction? What if I lost sense of time?What if I nursed this infection? Maybe the worst is behind..?_

BNL, "Falling for the First Time"

oooooooooo


	12. tatooine's newest celebrity

Okay … the last of the introspection for now. Coming up in chapter eleven: things go from confusing to chaos …

Thank you so much for the kind reviews!

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter ten: tatooine's newest celebrity … obi-wan kenobi?

Obi-Wan spent the morning familiarizing himself with the vehicle he was to be piloting the following day. It was a sort of bizarre hybrid, like a heavily-shielded landspeeder had drunkenly mated with an enthusiastically armed cloudcar and unfortunately and quite accidentally spawned something horrible. Obi-Wan eyed it skeptically.

"You and the Naboo form a symbiont circle," he whispered to himself a little sadly as he gazed at it forlornly. He wasn't sure why he said it, but he felt a little better inside for it.

"I can think of a few other things that make a 'symbiont circle,' sweetheart," offered an amused voice behind him, and he didn't have to turn to know Delian had made her way into the garage. She was almost purring as she took in the tight lines of his new flightsuit – flame-retardant, he'd been inexplicably relieved to hear. With the way things had been going lately for him, he'd probably manage to spontaneously burst into flames before this was all over.

"What do you think?" she asked sweetly as she approached, her fingers actually twitching toward him like a child near a forbidden cookie jar. "Care to give it a go? I'll be gentle."

Obi-Wan tried to maintain a disapproving look, but Force, it was getting hard. He wanted to laugh so badly … to remember for just a minute what it felt like to be happy, and not to worry every second that something was wrong, or he was about to make a mistake.

"Stop it," Delian said, sounding pissed; most likely that she considered herself rejected once again. _What would happen_, he wondered idly, _if I ever actually responded to her propositions?_

_She'd probably think I impaled her with a lightsaber_, Obi-Wan thought, and immediately wondered where that imagery had come from. _Force_, he thought again, _I __**am**__ getting to be quite the moody, boring young man, aren't I? I'm even depressing myself._

"Stop what?" he asked mildly.

Delian jerked her chin at him irritably. "_**That**_," she clarified, studying the hybrid for a moment before giving it a loving pat, possibly to console it for being Obi-Wan's designated racer.

"Oh, _**that**_," Obi-Wan nodded sagely, still with no idea what she referring to. "Of course. I apologize."

Delian stared at him darkly. "You're an ass. I hate you," she announced firmly.

Obi-Wan shot her his best, smoothest impression of Mace Windu's famed ladykiller smile, but was actually concerned that Delian looked a little frightened. He toned it down to just an Obi-Wan smile, the one that Qui-Gon called (under his breath) Kenobi Smile 7: Damn, Don't You Just Wish Jedi Weren't Prudish?

"All right, I don't hate you," Delian grumbled, her eyes widening in frank appreciation, "but you're still an ass. You're wreaking havoc on my life, Kenobi, you know that?"

"_**I'm**_ wreaking havoc on _**your **_life…? You _**bought**_ me!" Obi-Wan pointed out indignantly, scowling fiercely. "I hardly see how that qualifies me as being in a position to wreak any sort of havoc whatsoever! That you haven't brought down on yourself," he added as afterthought, still scowling slightly.

"We can change that - your position, I mean," Delian murmured invitingly, without missing a beat. Obi-Wan was amazed she didn't get mental whiplash with her constantly shifting moods. He also thought she was – hugely unsuccessfully – trying to portray to him that she possessed some sort of innocence. Unfortunately for her, however, Obi-Wan had been around Corelli throughout his young life, and was well aware that "guileless" was just not a term that could be applied to them as a whole. Most Corelli, in fact, found the insinuation offensive.

He considered his earlier line of thought. "Okay," he agreed solemnly, spreading his arms in an inviting sort of way. "Sounds good."

Delian's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You know," Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows and exaggeratedly made a few gestures he'd picked up from some of the pilots hanging around Watto's shop right before he'd had to hurriedly usher Anakin out of hearing range. He wasn't entirely sure of all the gestures' connotations, but he did feel that the expression on Delian's face was worth his small measure of guilt at being so blatant.

The Corellian stared at him before shaking her head disgustedly. "Pervert," she muttered, turning to reach a tool case resting off to the vehicle's side. She popped the hood and promptly buried her face inside the engine, refusing to look at him.

Obi-Wan sighed. _I just can't win, _he mused miserably before realizing that Delian was laughing under her breath as she tried to keep her face hidden by the hybrid's open hood. Finally with a strangled-sounding snort she glanced up at him, her brown eyes dancing.

"You, Kenobi, are such a piece of work."

A corner of the Jedi's mouth lifted. "Thank you," he smiled. "My Master always thought so." He stumbled on the wording and amended quickly, with a weak smile, "_**thinks**_ so."

Delian looked at him strangely. "Thought, thinks, what's the difference? Kest," she shook her head sharply before returning to her perusal of the engine. "You are so weird, Kenobi. No complaints about being a slave, but, hell, make a grammatical error and it's the end of the worlds!"

"I hardly think that's appropriate," Obi-Wan countered wryly. He had the nagging feeling he should be doing something to assist besides standing here, lightly crisping under the suns' dual assault, but he really wasn't sure what. He almost reached for a tool to take a whack at the hybrid spawn, but he had the distinct sense that Delian wouldn't appreciate him rooting around in his racer's engine without a clear knowledge of what he was doing.

Delian shrugged. "I don't really care. I still think you're weird."

"Yes, you and Anakin both," Obi-Wan agreed sardonically. He considered a moment. "And pretty much everyone who spends a lengthy amount of time with me."

"Hm. What a shock. Your Master, too?" Delian asked curiously, rummaging around and just generally making noise. Obi-Wan tried to peer over her shoulder but couldn't really tell what she was doing. _I hope she has more technical prowess than I do_, he mused with a small amount of concern, images of his mangled body flashing across his mind and the Jedi wondered how durable this wreck of a machine actually was. He pulled his attention away from his gruesome imaginings and considered Delian's question.

"I'm really not sure. We had – have had – some communication issues recently." Obi-Wan couldn't help but answer honestly. "Mostly my fault," he sighed, a frown tugging at his full mouth – Delian noticed and was pretty sure that it was his fifty-seventh frown in the short time they'd been together.

"Stop it! You're doing it again," she growled in frustration, swatting him roughly on the shoulder.

"What?"

"Get that look off your face; I've seen it before and I damn well won't tolerate seeing it on you. Self-pity doesn't suit you, Kenobi."

"Neither does slavery," he retorted.

Delian frowned, wiping her sweaty palms on the thighs of her techsuit with a tiny sigh. "Come on, lover," she encouraged tiredly, choosing to ignore his comment. "We've got a lot of work to do."

OOOOOOOOOO

"All right, again," Delian's voice crackled in his tiny helmet speaker. "Harder about this time, though. I want those turns as accurate as you can make 'em – if you have to use your Force, love, now's a good time to practice."

Wrestling with the sluggish steering grips, Obi-Wan tried to open himself up to the Living Force, but he was having a hell of a time getting the tiny racer to respond to his commands, and the quiet song of the Force remained distant despite his continued effort.

"I'm trying!" he shot back calmly, without allowing the frustration he was feeling to bleed into his voice. They had been working on different simulations for tomorrow's Games for most of the afternoon, and a part of him chafed at the waste of his time, but always in the back of his mind was Anakin's quiet plea, and he knew that he could not allow slavers to come for the boy and separate him from his mother. Gently, Obi-Wan felt along the bond he shared with his Master, but was not surprised by the emptiness that waited for him.

He practiced, working in sync with Delian, until the shadows had lengthened into evening and he was more exhausted than he had been in quite some time … at least a few days, he figured dryly. They had made several modifications to his racer, and even Dirak Biggs had quietly wandered in and out to make a few terse suggestions while glaring at Obi-Wan. They'd covered everything from the Games' rules to the racer's weaponry; Obi-Wan was a little hesitant about blasting the opposing racers' crafts into oblivion, but also knew he had to disable the other crafts in order to win.

In short, it had been a grueling day, but now the hybrid he'd actually grown a bit attached to responded under his fingers like he was using the Force itself to pilot it … uh, her. He was actually beginning to feel the first vestiges of a confidence that hadn't graced his soul since before he and Qui-Gon had approached the Trade Federation blockade over Naboo.

The speaker hissed to life again. "All right, hon', bring her in. You did good today."

Obi-Wan blinked. No double meaning, just simple, honest praise. He was ashamed at how good it felt.

He set the humming racer down gently just inside the garage and the engines powered down with a whine. He released the racer's protective clear dome and clambered out to where Delian and Biggs waited.

"Not bad," Dirak allowed, though no hint of friendliness flickered in his aura. Obi-Wan could only read distrust and jealousy emanating from him, though they were emotions that seemed new and foreign to the other man and it saddened the Jedi that he was responsible for the shift in Dirak's demeanor. He nodded to acknowledge the grudging compliment.

"You were great!" Delian cheered enthusiastically – though, Obi-Wan noted, she was far more restrained around Biggs today than she'd been yesterday. In fact, they seemed to be treading around each other as carefully as new kitlings. Again, his fault. Obi-Wan imagined Qui-Gon smiling at him, amused and maybe just a little self-righteous as the older Jedi surveyed the chaos his Padawan had managed to create in such a short time.

_You win_, Obi-Wan sighed smally, but without malice. _Come back now. I miss you._

He found that he even almost missed Anakin's constant chatter; after days of being inundated with it, the lack was noticeably disconcerting. Perhaps that was why Qui-Gon was so taken with the child. He radiated excitement and exuberance, and definitely made Obi-Wan look like a party-crasher by comparison.

_Oh, Master_, Obi-Wan sighed. _How are we going to fix this mess? _

_Don't center on your anxieties, Obi-Wan._ It wasn't his Master from the present, just a memory that Obi-Wan dredged up, but still he wrapped it around himself like a blanket, quietly soaking up threads of comfort from the recollection of Qui-Gon's voice.

"Kenobi?"

Delian was staring at him.

Biggs was staring at him.

"Hm?" He tried not to sound as sheepish as he suddenly felt, but he refused to relinquish control of his mental Qui-Gon Quilt.

"You, um, maybe meditating a bit there, hm? Or maybe, maybe thinking a little bit about something, the race tomorrow perhaps?" Delian was grinning, but there was underlying concern darkening her eyes. It hadn't been there last night, but he had noticed it cresting in her bright eyes today when she looked at him.

He returned her smile tightly. "Of course," he murmured.

She looked unconvinced. "You want to take your speeder out?"

"No, no thanks," Obi-Wan sighed. "I've seen the inside of that thing quite enough today."

"Not her," Delian shook her head, and jerked her chin towards the sleek black speeder he'd ridden yesterday. "Her." At the Corellian's side, Biggs shifted uncomfortably at the idea but said nothing. The look on Obi-Wan's face was answer enough. "Be back before curfew," Delian teased.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan breathed warmly, his tired grey eyes glowing. He nodded to Biggs, and Delian's eyes followed the Jedi as he moved gracefully to the speeder, murmuring a few words as he caressed its body and then slung his leg over the seat, settling his muscular body lightly into place. A moment later the engine purred to life and he was gone, shooting out the open garage door with borderline reckless speed and familiarity with his craft that surprised her.

_Is it warm in here? _she wondered breezily, her mind already replaying the last few seconds.

"You sure that's a good idea?"

Delian rolled her eyes behind Bigg's back. "No! You're right! What the hell was I not thinking? Kenobi!" she shouted. "_**KENOBI! **_Come back! You crazy fool!" The Corellian couldn't maintain the façade and actually giggled, smiling at her companion. "He's fine, Dirak. He'll be back, trust me." She met his dark eyes self-assuredly, recalling the heavy burden the young Jedi was carrying because of her: Anakin.

"He has too much to lose if he doesn't."

OOOOOOOOOO

_I was made for infinite sadness._

It was a whisper, nothing more, but Obi-Wan Kenobi recognized his own voice: a little older, much heavier, bearing great pain and loss. He considered it, twisting the thought around, then set his own words aside gently, settling them in a quiet, unused part of his mind where they would lie for a time yet.

He knelt in the sand, palms resting lightly on his thighs, trying to meditate. As much as he loved the freedom of careening through the open desert with the sun caressing his now tanned skin, he had been doing far too much introspection lately without doing anything constructive about his negative emotions.

The Unifying Force, as usual, responded quickly to his open mind, though not as warmly and comforting as he'd once been accustomed too. He was slowly growing used to its distracted presence and although it saddened him, he knew that it was all he could expect. His prescience sense suggested he take what he could get while he could.

He knew that Darkness was coming, as surely as evening draped its own dark tapestry over the quiet sands. He watched, half in expectant irony, as the shadows came closer and closer until they covered him and this desert in night.

He knew that Darkness was coming because he could feel it.

It was coming for _**him**_.

He wasn't afraid, though. He was completely calm. He had known it would come, in the back of his mind he had _**known**_ as soon as he uttered the name of this planet to his Master. But it hadn't stopped them, he or Qui-Gon. It hadn't stopped him from standing by as Qui-Gon took his little troupe into Mos Espa, hadn't stopped him when he'd learned what Qui-Gon had planned to do. Even the nightmares and prescient rumblings he did nothing about, nor had he said anything as he'd tested Anakin's midichlorian count.

Why?

Despite his earlier trying to hide it away, his own voice echoed in his head, weighted and confirmed as truth by the Unifying Force:

_I was made for infinite sadness._

Obi-Wan's head sagged in quiet despair and his shoulders slumped. He tried carefully to pull the ragged edges of the Unifying Force to him for comfort, but it slid through his grasping mental fingers, pulsing just out of his reach.

One silvery tear tracked its way into the thick stubble gracing his cleft chin as his frustration welled inside him. "I can't," he whispered, sinking quietly into despair. "I can't do it."

The Force slid farther out of his reach…

"I _**can't**_ … "

… as the weight of his burden slowly drove him deeper on his knees, crushing him and bleeding his firmly-held control away …

"I _**can't!**_" he shouted to the sky, closing his eyes against a sob, craning his face to the stars, fighting the rising ache in his chest that made it so damned difficult to breathe.

And the last of his beloved Unifying Force slid away, leaving Obi-Wan completely alone.

OOOOOOOOOO

The low hum of an approaching speeder reached his ears and he lifted his head slowly. -_danger!-_ flashed through his mind and he lurched unsteadily to his feet, right hand automatically going for the lightsaber safely tucked away and hidden in his belt. Watto had tried to take it from him and Obi-Wan had had to convince him otherwise. Delian had never thought to look.

He could see the speeder now: the driver was small, dressed in dark clothing, and as the speeder approached, short blonde hair shone in the wan moons' light. Obi-Wan wearily returned his lightsaber to his belt and tried to brush away the cloying numbness he'd allowed himself once again to take shelter in - he'd have to stop that; it was getting harder to leave.

"Isn't it dangerous for you to be out here alone at night?" he asked Delian softly, gently chastising, as she powered down the speeder.

"I wouldn't be out here at night if I hadn't had to come looking for you," she retorted. "I thought maybe you were lost."

"No. How'd you find me?"

Delian smiled slyly. "You've got a homing beacon." She held up his transmitter controls and Obi-Wan sighed raggedly. "I know," she nodded, and he was startled by her genuine sympathy.

"I think you'd better hang onto this, actually. Kest only knows what Dirak would do if he got a hold of it," she teased.

Obi-Wan gratefully accepted the tiny device from her, clipping it to his belt after checking to make certain it was powered down. "You came to find me to give it to me?" he questioned mildly.

"Nope. I came because Dirak thought you'd run away and stolen one of my best girls. Actually, _**he**_ was going to come after you." She grinned, a touch fiercely. "I sent him the wrong way and came to haul you back myself."

Delian looked at him closely; even in the dim light he looked far too pale. Oddly worried, she asked quietly, "You all right, Kenobi?"

His ice eyes shuttered, but the remnants of his defenses were crumbling before her amazed stare. "I'm fine," he sighed. "Thank you."

"What's wrong?" Delian persisted. Her gaze tightened as she closely surveyed the young Jedi. _It was his eyes_, she realized. Up until now, despite whatever emotion roiled in Kenobi's stormy blue-grey eyes, there was always control calmly behind it, keeping him in check. Kenobi never fully lost himself in his emotion; he was always in command.

Until now. She watched as fine lines skittered across his shielded gaze like ice cracking, exposing the rising swells beneath. He'd seemed all right earlier; his typical blend of seriousness and dry humor, but now Delian felt that she was looking at him with new eyes that saw past the walls he usually cloaked himself in.

"Kenobi?"

"Delian?" he responded tiredly.

Delian scuffed her boot in the sand self-consciously. "Are you just worried about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Oh Force." Obi-Wan passed a callused hand over his face. "Delian, I can't. Anakin … I'm not good enough," he whispered. _I can't train him._

"You did fine today," Delian encouraged; Kest, but it felt strange to see Kenobi so downhearted, so … ready to give up. Had she contributed to that? Delian snorted. _You'd be a fool not to think so, silly girl._

"That's enough," she admonished him sharply when he only looked at her dully by way of reply. "There isn't any capacity in you for defeat and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't really accept it anyway. So quit playing with the idea."

Obi-Wan looked at her, startled, wondering what in hell she was doing in his head. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled softly. Force, why was it getting so hard to keep himself in check?

Delian swallowed hard, wondering if she should apologize to the Jedi. She was afraid that if she did, it would be difficult to keep everything else in … she wanted to be near him so badly, to soothe and caress his aches away. To see him this vulnerable tore at her; she knew, somehow, that insecurity hid in the very darkest part of his soul, and that she, in her cockiness and carelessness, had helped bring it to light.

Had helped bring him to this. This once-proud Jedi warrior who cowed before her, his slim shoulders hunched in weary defeat.

"I am so sorry," she breathed in stunned realization, "so sorry for everything I said, and the way I've treated you." Her eyes dropped to the ground, and she swallowed past her shame. "Forgive me, Obi-Wan, please."

He looked at her curiously, with aching, lonely eyes. "What is it, Delian?"

"I've been horrible," she admitted. _This is it,_ she told herself firmly. _Be brave. Don't lose him._ She was moving closer to him, nearer than she'd been yet.

"I am … so aware of you," the Corellian continued, almost sounding embarrassed, but forging on. "I have been since I first laid eyes on you. Being near you, Kenobi, reminds me of everything I've ever wanted … I look into your eyes and I see the skies of a world that can never be mine. Being near you," she whispered, "makes me feel alive."

Delian swallowed hard, Kest, it was so damned difficult to be so close to him, how she wanted to touch him, to stroke his lightly bearded cheek or the hard muscles of his bicep through his loose, once-white tunic. Her breathing sped up and her body trembled – if she could just touch him ….

Obi-Wan was watching her warily with hooded eyes, and she knew that he saw the desire that marked her face and rushed her breath past her throat. She looked up at him, and there was a hint of longing in her bright eyes.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," she said quietly, and to Obi-Wan the sudden seriousness in her voice was akin to the evening sun slipping behind a cloud – the red mottled sky was no less beautiful, but had changed somehow into something peaceful, calm and soothing to behold. "I don't know why you're here, Obi-Wan Kenobi," she whispered, daring to stroke the side of his face with her fingers, "but I will do what I can for you." She knew he would understand the ancient words she murmured: "_Amano te suh lei._"

"Delian," Obi-Wan began slowly, but the look in her eyes silenced whatever he'd been about to say. In truth, he wasn't sure, only that he should say something to again dissuade her ….

Except that he found his callused fingers were threading through her short hair, stroking the curled strands gently. The layers in which she cloaked herself were peeling away as he watched, and he felt, finally, silent to him for so long the loving caress of the Living Force as if it were in the breeze that teased past his ear.

"The Force hasn't abandoned you, Delian," he whispered in wonder, "it breathes in you."

Ashamedly self-conscious, swearing at herself for letting her own defenses down, Delian tried to duck away from his piercing gaze but his blue-grey eyes held her fast. She had tried to hide it for so long ….. didn't want to be a Healer, only wanted to go _**home**_, to a world that would never accept her. Her parents had been Jedi Healers, leaving her beloved Corellia for Coruscant. They had tried to train her in their footsteps, but it wasn't what she wanted ….

Delian lifted her chin haughtily, finally snapping their locked gaze through sheer will. "I told you: we parted a long time ago, Kenobi. You would do best to let it lie." Without thinking, she reached up and tucked his braid gently behind his right ear, letting her fingertips trail down the side of his cheek. He didn't move, just watched her with an unreadable expression on his face. She wanted to kiss him, wanted to hold him, wanted him to say something further, to respond to her declaration of love, but he didn't. His eyes were sad as he studied her face.

He hesitated. "Delian, I – "

Her gaze fell; embarrassed, she backed up a step, her boots sliding in the shifting sand beneath her feet. She should have known. Her brashness was always getting the better of her. "No, don't worry about it. You're a high and mighty Jedi – stupid, of course, to think a Jedi and a girl like me – "

"Delian," he interrupted, gently clasping her fingers within his own slender ones. "It's not that at all. To 'fall in love' that's not … not the Jedi way. I can't."

"Can't?" she interjected skeptically, but didn't take her hand from his. "Or won't, Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

He smiled sadly. "Both, Delian."

"Oh." The Corellian smiled. "Is that all? In that case, I ask you again," she said softly, "what would you do tomorrow that you haven't already done?" Her gaze was suddenly vulnerable, the first true hint of it he'd seen in her normally brash demeanor. "Would you fall in love with me?" she asked quietly, bringing her face near his and gently teasing his short beard with her cheek. "Tomorrow?"

Her fingers covered his mouth when he would have spoken. "Shh," she breathed, and rested her head against his chest, smiling when his arms wrapped around her tightly.

OOOOOOOOOO


	13. the meeting of hubris and nemesis

Thank you for the kind reviews! It's nice to know that some people still enjoy the story after all this time.

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter eleven: the meeting of hubris and nemesis

"Well, Kenobi, this is it. Good luck."

Obi-Wan Kenobi smiled tightly, but the gesture didn't touch his eyes. "I don't need luck; I have the Force."

He said it even though he hadn't been able to properly sense the Force for some time, said it even though he was starting to doubt the truth of the words, said it even though there was an ache in his heart where the Force and his Master should have been. But he didn't want to think about that, so instead he readjusted the fasteners across the breast of his flightsuit and dropped his gaze from Delian's.

"Yeah, well, good luck, anyway," the Corellian repeated quietly. She was far more subdued today than she'd been the day before, and for that Obi-Wan was grateful. With all that was already going on, he didn't think he had the energy to spare mulling through what either of them were thinking, especially after last night, when…something…had happened, some sort of softening around the edges. There was something unique, brash, and amazing about her, something about the way the Force flowed around her that made him wonder in curiosity.

_Maybe,_ he mused tiredly, _if things were different… maybe if this whole mission hadn't gone to hell._

Damn it, anyway.

She handed him a pair of flight gloves and a helmet, which Obi-Wan accepted with a sigh, and she leaned over to drop a quick kiss on his cheek, which he took with a smile. Delian ran a loving hand across the old, modified, and heavily armed racer that she'd selected for his use.

"Take care of this one too, will you? I know she doesn't look like much, but she'll see you through."

Obi-Wan quirked a half-smile. "Ignoring, of course, that the entire object of the game is to smash everyone else's vehicles into space dust?"

Delian tilted a warning finger at him. "Just not mine, ace. If you lose, I'll have your hide." She grinned at him lecherously, a familiar sparkle in her expression. "Or maybe I will anyway."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "You just never quit, do you?"

"I'm Corellian," Delian laughed, but there was a serious glint in her eye. "Of course not."

OOOOOOOOOO

"This is insane," Obi-Wan muttered, jerking hard on the steering grips to avoid a spinning podracer hurtling toward him, wildly out of control. So far, his strategy had consisted mainly of flying around letting everyone else battle it out while he stayed out of the way. It had worked pretty well so far, but some of the other gamers had caught on and apparently pegged him as an easy mark.

"_**Completely**_ insane," he added for emphasis, though no one was listening; Delian was watching anxiously from the spectator quarter, but the rules of the game prohibited the racers from contacting anyone outside the arena to keep things "fair".

Obi-Wan snorted. There really wasn't anything fair about this game at all. It was a stupid rule.

It was also oddly ironic; the notion of risking one's life for _**fun**_ – not that he was having any. For a Jedi, life-threatening experiences were a career requirement. For these people, the hundreds of screaming, cheering, wagering fans, and the fifteen or so racers swerving about frenziedly, this was _**entertainment**_.

In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have been involved – it was illegal, after all – but then he also shouldn't have sold himself, either.

Not for the first time, Obi-Wan wondered why there wasn't a Grey aspect of the Force. He'd certainly spent enough time of late in the murkier areas of morality.

He sent his little craft swerving left and out of the way of a decidedly out-of-place landspeeder, then used his guns to destroy one of the engines. The landspeeder spun and scorched into the ground, sending powdery sand arcing upwards in a spray of shimmering gold as it abruptly ground to a halt, out of commission – and out of the game. The crowd roared, cheers of pleasure and shouts of disappointment crashing together in the crazed din.

_Obi-Wan Kenobi, Tatooine's newest celebrity,_ he thought to himself; the Force screamed a warning and he twisted his small craft away from a modified Headhunter that was barreling down on him, lasers raking a path of grooved landscape as it roared past.

_Hold on, Anakin._

He managed to pull his craft into a sharp climb that took it out of the way of the Headhunter's onslaught; the other racer screamed beneath him in a blur before being promptly taken out by a Rancor outfitted with shoulder cannons.

_Right,_ Obi-Wan thought, _another one down. Thirteen more to go._

If there weren't lives unnecessarily at risk in this Game, he might actually have enjoyed himself…

…until the _Something_ that was interfering with his connection to the Force intensified suddenly, tickling the edges of his mind, and it didn't feel like anything so much as applying slow, steady pressure to a small hole in the center of a glass plate and watching the resulting webbing of cracks spread across the surface.

Obi-Wan blinked hard and jerked his head to one side, trying to refocus his attention on the Game and remember that he was playing for Anakin, but Something was out there.

Something Dark. And it was looking for him.

It whispered in his mind, a soft phantom that coaxed and mocked him and demanded his attention, whispered the promise of dark and pain and fear. Obi-Wan's racer almost took a direct hit to the tiny cockpit as his attention faltered, and he struggled to bring himself under control.

_Obi-Wan…_

The voice in his head startled him; it had been some time since anyone had linked their thoughts to his, and yet only his Master should have been able to do it. Had Qui-Gon finally come back? Obi-Wan almost smiled in sheer relief; he'd been anxious over the silence of their Bond.

_Master?_

It was similar to Qui-Gon in strength, but twisted and dark. It pulled on him, demanding his awareness.

_You will come to me_.

…_what_?

_If not you, then . . . the boy_.

Obi-Wan's breath caught. Anakin?

A flash of red crossed his vision, and cold permeated his entire body. He had to get to Anakin, he knew without hesitation.

Anakin was in danger.

Taking a moment to thank the Force that his slave transmitter controls were switched off and secured safely on his belt, Obi-Wan flipped the speeder around and pointed it toward Mos Espa.

OOOOOOOOOO

Mouth agape, Delian Ani-Suru could only stare at the monitor before her as it showed Kenobi actually _**leaving**_ the race.

"What the hell are you doing, Kenobi?" she muttered angrily.

Beside her, Dirak's mouth hit the ground. "Does he understand he's disqualified?" he asked incredulously, but then a slow smile crossed his face and he turned to his Corellian partner. "Kenobi loses. Pay up."

Delian just stared in shock.

OOOOOOOOOO

After what seemed like an eternity of endless desert, the small hub of Mos Espa slowly grew on the horizon. Obi-Wan's breath was hitching painfully in his throat – he felt so smothered by Dark he could scarcely breathe. Even the exercise he had participated in on Dagobah under Qui-Gon's tutelage hadn't imbued him with such a sense of Dark as he felt now, speeding toward a child he knew was in danger because of him.

Dusk was falling and the streets were slowly emptying as Obi-Wan roared through the small town, pulling up to the junk dealer's shop and killing the engine. The Jedi leapt from the cockpit, surprised when he stumbled just a bit on his landing. Apparently the Games had taken more out of him then he'd expected.

Well, the Games, yes, but also malnutrition, sleep deprivation, and withdrawal from the energy capsules he'd been partaking of quite liberally, not to mention depression and a rapid shift in his normal daily routine.

Obi-Wan straightened painfully. He was tired, sore, and never, ever, _**ever**_wanted to see a racer again. Helmet clutched wearily in his hand, he strode into the gloomy recess of Watto's shop, looking around for Anakin or Watto. The room was dark and quiet.

Too quiet?

Obi-Wan gently loosed his lightsaber from his belt, its comforting weight resting easily in his hand. He cushioned his footfalls to dampen the noise of his boots and stole through the shop's interior without a sound. _I'm coming, Anakin._

"Where's Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan halted in the shadows at the grim, growling voice coming from the back lot.

"I know he's here," the soft rumble continued. "Where is he?"

"Mos Eisley," the response came from Anakin, his defiant tones not quite masking the fear in his childish voice.

"He belongs to me," Watto interjected hastily, and Obi-Wan heard his wings beating furiously. "Any business you have with him goes through me!"

There was almost a trace of humor in the dark voice. "Is that so?"

The Jedi's eyes widened as the night's silence was pierced by very familiar sounds: the warm hum of a lightsaber igniting, and then a noise Obi-Wan recognized as a downward stroke, Anakin's gasp, and Obi-Wan's own lightsaber sprung to life in his hand as the young Jedi barreled up the stairs just in time to see the cleaved halves of Watto's body hit the ground. Anakin's eyes were huge in the darkness, gleaming in fear but also anger. A black-clad shadow swung around to face Obi-Wan, its tattooed face widening into a slow, pleased grin.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi. I have much looked forward to this meeting."

Obi-Wan's ignited azure blade was up and at the ready as he slowly moved closer to both the creature and Anakin, intent on protecting the boy. "Really?" he asked with an arched eyebrow. "I'm sorry to say I don't share the pleasure of making _**your**_ acquaintance, as you seem to prefer action before thought and violence before mercy."

Waves of dark energy were rolling off the intruder, and Obi-Wan drew a deep breath, trying to steady the unease that rippled through him. The creature drew back his hood slowly, revealing several small, sharp horns adorning his skull and a jagged pattern of red and black lines marking his skin. His yellow irises burned with hate from within red, bloodshot eyes. _A Zabrak_, Obi-Wan's mind supplied helpfully.

A pity he was already so weary.

Obi-Wan had managed to place himself in front of Anakin; he wanted to tell the boy to bolt, to _run, damn it!_ but he was unsure how the Zabrak would react, and he couldn't put Anakin in harm's way. The boy meant so much to Qui-Gon.

"I have come to speak with you," the Zabrak hissed, his voice sliding over Obi-Wan like oily water, clinging to him uncomfortably like a cold sweat. "I am glad the child was sufficient to bring you."

Obi-Wan glanced over at Anakin, noticing the boy was a sickly greenish hue; he couldn't seem to keep from staring at the steaming halves of Watto's hewn body. "What is it that you want?" he challenged. "Speak, then."

The Zabrak's knowing smile never wavered. "I want you," he said simply, his pointed teeth stretching across his thin lips as his smile widened.

"Are you afraid of the Dark?"

OOOOOOOOOO

"Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

A swift kick that connected with the workbench brought her the resounding crash she'd wanted as the table's contents – a pile of small tools and some data disks – tipped and toppled to the floor, but her foot throbbed from the blow.

Delian didn't care.

Kenobi was gone.

What the hell had happened? Things had been going relatively smoothly up till now. It wasn't because of her, was it? Was he one of those men who led women on until they willingly professed their love, lust, whatever, and then disappeared to some remote corner of the galaxy, never to be seen again, leaving scores of pining females in their wake?

"I don't _**think**_ so," she muttered aloud. That didn't sound like her Jedi at all. It must have been something else. Obi-Wan had known that Anakin's freedom was riding on him; why would he abandon that so quickly?

Or maybe Kenobi had gone after Anakin himself. That didn't make much sense, either, but Delian was unable to come up with anything else that was even close. She leaned her head against the frame of the open garage door, looking out across the darkened desert wistfully.

She'd give Kenobi until tomorrow to return. Then she was going to Mos Espa.

OOOOOOOOOO

"My Master wishes your allegiance," Darth Maul continued smoothly.

"Your master? To what end?" Obi-Wan asked sternly, his eyes greying to the color of cold steel and Maul could sense his essence hardening, a calm resolve rising to the fore. Maul almost shivered; it would be such a pleasure to break this one. "I will not bow to the Dark."

"Then your life will have to suffice," the Sith retorted, twisting his lightsaber so the blood-red blade was parallel to the dirt. A second blade sprung to life from the extended hilt, and the hum of blazing energy was loud in Obi-Wan's ears. He heard Anakin's breath catch behind him at the immense threat of the double-bladed saber. Obi-Wan himself had never seen anything like it and felt a momentary stab of regret he was facing this peril alone.

Without waiting, Obi-Wan threw himself at the Sith, drawing him away from Anakin.

"Anakin! RUN!" Obi-Wan shouted as his blade sizzled and sparked at the contact with the Zabrak's. He could see Anakin, eyes wide in fear, rooted to the dirt. "_**Anakin**_!"

Maul allowed their blades to remain locked, sizzling and spitting, his eyes grinning as he studied the Jedi in the pale light of their blades. "There is no need to fight, young Jedi," he hissed cajolingly. "There is no need to die! Join me - become my apprentice and I will give you such power as you have never dreamed!"

Kenobi broke away, and Maul saw surprise flash across the Jedi's features. "Yes," the Sith breathed; already he could sense Kenobi's formidable power and it tantalized him, pushed him on hungrily. How beautiful it would be to draw him to the Dark! _Lord Sidious would not have this one,_ Maul decided. Such a prize would not slither through his fingers.

"Is there no anger in you, young one?" he growled softly, as he and Kenobi circled each other warily, lunging forward, drawing back, both hesitant to fully attack: Obi-Wan, because he wasn't prepared to take on a Sith alone in his current state of exhaustion, and Maul, because he didn't want to permanently maim his desired protégé.

"Do you not desire revenge?" the Zabrak continued smoothly. "Are you not angry at being left here, abandoned by your Master, sold as chattel to the highest bidder?"

"I wasn't abandoned," Obi-Wan returned calmly, eyes dark and hard. "I am here by my own choice."

Thrust. Parry. Glowing blades snapped and sparked as they struck each other, casting a sickly glow on the fighters' strained faces.

"Then you were dissatisfied, perhaps, with the pathetic Jedi ways?" Maul resumed, his excitement coiling through his breath. "Do you not wish for more? Do you not wish to taste your power, to unleash it fully and use it as you may?" He spoke the softly the same words that had been spoken to him not so long before. "Why allow yourself to chafe under rules that are centuries old and have no place in one as strong as you? Join me," he hissed invitingly. "There would be no need for you to - " Maul's expression twisted in a disgusted sneer as he noticed the transmitter controls clipped to Obi-Wan's belt, " - _**sell**_ yourself while in my service."

There was no emotion in Kenobi's voice, the Sith's words rolling swiftly off his stern front, temptation easily ignored. "I will not join you."

"Then you will die," Maul murmured self-assuredly.

Obi-Wan shrugged wearily. "So be it." He lunged suddenly, nearly catching the Sith unprepared but the dark warrior rounded in time and blades clashed and sparked as their combined hum filled the air as their wielders whirled and spun, striking and blocking until, as if by mutual consent, they both backed off, returning to their ready positions and their breathing slightly winded.

"Give in," the Sith urged. "I will not fail you."

"I will not yield," Kenobi replied, stepping forward into a strong thrust. "I will not surrender to a life of dark pleasure built on the suffering and death of innocents to feed my own ego."

"You already place yourself on a pedestal," Maul retorted promptly, "from which you shall soon fall!"

With a sudden flick of his gloved fingers, Maul called the transmitter controls from Obi-Wan's belt into his outstretched hand, switching the unit on and mercilessly increasing the voltage linked to the unit's punishment feature. The muscles in Obi-Wan's thigh immediately jumped and spasmed, and Obi-Wan grit his teeth as his leg buckled under him, dropping him jerkily to one knee in the dirt. His lightsaber he still gripped firmly in his hand, but, as Maul had intended, he was left in an awkward and nearly impossible position in which to defend himself as he hunched painfully over the throbbing source of his agony. The Sith stood over Obi-Wan, ready to offer the Jedi mercy and a second chance, but waiting and watching for his moment.

Maul increased the power again and Obi-Wan gasped, scrabbling blindly at his thigh as if he could dig the transmitter out himself as the tremors increased until they were racing up and down his lean frame and he curled in on himself, a trembling ball of agony. He didn't scream, which disappointed Maul: it would have been lovely.

The Sith waited one moment more, and then hit the switch to kill the transmitter's power. He was vaguely aware that the boy he had seen with Watto was still standing off to the side, yelling frantically for Obi-Wan who was on his knees, sweat pouring down his face with one hand braced in the dirt to keep himself from falling and the other clenching his lightsaber in a white-knuckled death grip.

Obi-Wan gasped at the sudden absence of current slicing through his body, immediately struggling to rise and Maul was pleased by the display of strength. Kenobi was dangerously weakened; his time on Tatooine had not been good to him, and even though the Jedi's pale face shone determinedly in the dark, Maul knew he was within reach if only he could drive the blade in a little deeper.

"Did you feel it?" the Sith asked curiously.

Obi-Wan ignored him, focusing solely on his blade and calming his breathing. He could still feel tiny jolts of electricity coursing through his body and he knew he had to get the controls from the Sith before the transmitter was used again.

"Did you feel it?" the Sith repeated, calmly conversational. "When I struck down your Master? Your name was on his lips when he died. Did you hear him? Did you feel him bleed?"

Obi-Wan froze, his blood sliding like ice through his veins. "No," he breathed, trying to impart strength into his failing voice. Obi-Wan heard Anakin's gasp, but it sounded far away as the wind roared in his ears. Did he feel it? Had he heard it? "You lie," he protested faintly, a bare flash of memory releasing a horrified feeling, a half hidden memory … he'd been certain he'd been impaled through the chest, and had discovered that the phantom pains hadn't belonged to him at all, but to his Master. He had forgotten … how could he have forgotten? Qui-Gon hadn't answered because Qui-Gon was dead … dead …

"You killed him," he whispered, the silence in his head slowly beginning to make sense.

The Sith smiled, a gruesome, pleased display of teeth and hatred. "I killed them all," he said simply.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The scream didn't come from Obi-Wan. Anakin Skywalker shrieked at the words of the Sith, an inhuman yell tinged with venom and the promise of retribution. Obi-Wan started in horror at the noise from the child – he could literally _**see**_ the Dark Side of the Force swirling hungrily around Anakin, feeding on and encouraging his rage. The Sith also turned speculatively, no doubt sensing the same, and his lips twisted in a feral smile.

"Padmé!"

There was an incredible swell of dark power shifting, and Obi-Wan's gaze swung to Anakin in horror.

"Anakin, no!" the Jedi shouted, throwing up a hand to ward off the boy's frenzied rush toward the Sith, his fingers already twitching.

A bright crackle of Force-lightning nearly knocked the unprepared Maul off his feet as Anakin, eyes alight with ruthless darkness, focused his untrained powers at the Sith. Obi-Wan fought to rise to his feet but Maul was faster, swinging his lightsaber around to catch the onslaught and directing the crackling electricity back toward Anakin. The blue fire sizzled into the boy's chest, halting his forward movement and sending him tumbling backward to lie in a crumpled heap in the sand.

With an inarticulate cry, Obi-Wan lurched to a standing position and barely managed to bring his lightsaber around and down through the Sith's outstretched arm, slicing it off cleanly just below the elbow. Maul cried out in pain, and Obi-Wan was almost amazed to realize that it sounded like the cry of a normal sentient being. Praying – begging – for the Force to help him, the young Jedi reversed the swing of blade and struck again.

Maul looked down, surprise alighting in his grotesquely painted features as he studied the azure blade that had neatly pierced his abdomen. "Well done, Kenobi," he murmured, then toppled to the ground.

Obi-Wan powered off his lightsaber, stumbling awkwardly and dropping to his knees beside Anakin but there was nothing he could do; the small chest was still. Tears stung his eyes at the wasted life, though he recalled Anakin's terrible rage with a shudder.

Maul's words echoed in his ears. Had the Zabrak truly killed Qui-Gon and the Queen, and the others? He could still hear the Sith's labored, grating breathing; he was dying but not gone yet.

"I have to know," Obi-Wan mumbled, staggering back to the Sith's crumpled body and pressing his fingertips to the sides of Maul's face.

Maul smiled.

The doors that the Force had in its gentleness closed snapped open, throwing Obi-Wan into the last minutes aboard the Queen's downed vessel and immersing him in Dark.

He was crying when the blackness finally took him.

OOOOOOOOOOO


	14. answers and questions

Special thanks to Jacinta Kenobi for her faithful reviews! Reviews, as always, are as cherished and adored as Obi-Wan Kenobi (and better-treated), and I am grateful for them.

I would appreciate it very much if anyone else who has been following this story for awhile, like Jacinta, would take a moment to review the story's overall quality and consistency. I'd also value comments from any newer readers as to what they think … this fic has been a long time in the writing, but I enjoy working on this one especially so I'd like to know what you all think! Thanks!

OOOOOOOOOO

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twelve: answers … and questions

Delian Ani-Suru's speeder screamed into Mos Espa, the whine of the engines cutting through the early morning quiet as she coaxed every last bit of speed she could from the abused engines. She knew she was mistreating one of her babies, but at the moment she just didn't care.

Something was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

She didn't know how she knew, but she never questioned these things. She was Corellian, after all. And she'd had that damned dream about Kenobi again last night – not the good one, but the one about the Room.

She _**should**_ have come immediately after Kenobi had abandoned the Demolition Games – she knew that now. But she couldn't be too late. She couldn't let him down. Cocky Jedi bastard who'd wriggled into her life and demanded a place there.

_Kest, please, please don't let me be too late._

Kenobi's racer was parked outside Watto's shop and Delian vaulted from the speeder – giving herself an automatic perfect ten for her landing – and burst through the shop doors, ignoring that annoying little chime that announced the arrival of a customer. The bells echoed in the stillness of the shop, but no cheerful voice greeted her, no pattering of wings or small feet skittering across the stone floor to beg her for the latest news and gossip.

"Anakin?" she called softly. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest as her Corelli senses screamed at her to be cautious. "Kenobi?"

Nothing.

Delian moved up the stone steps to Watto's back lot, noting a soft buzzing sound from the exterior.

_Oh, Kest_.

Her breath caught painfully and she immediately looked away, swallowing hard against the bile rising in her throat. Delian hurriedly stumbled past the clearly, disgustingly dead carcass of Watto, now buzzing with a multitude of flies, through the stench of death, and dropped hard to her knees beside the small body crumpled a bit away from the Toydarian.

"Anakin?" What the hell had happened here…?

Her shaking fingers felt for a pulse on the boy's neck, and she almost cried when she felt a weak, erratic beat against her fingertips. He was unconscious, probably in shock, but he was alive.

"I'm here, honey, I'm here," she whispered soothingly, "I'll be back in just a minute. Let me check on Obi-Wan, too."

Delian rose, trying to keep her nausea at bay and ignore the trembling in her limbs, and carefully picked her way to the other body. Her foot impacted with something small and solid, and she looked down to see a lightsaber rolling away from her boot. Without a thought, she picked it up and secured it to her belt where Obi-Wan's transmitter had hung a short time ago. It was Obi-Wan's lightsaber, she knew. She could feel it.

Her hands shook hard and she fought to steady them as she knelt by the cloak-enshrouded body. _Please let him be alive,_ she whispered, drawing close to pull back the cloak. _I've got to get him to a medcenter. _

_Please don't let me have been too late. _

OOOOOOOOOO

Monitors hummed and machines buzzed, and he thought vaguely he would choke on the sterile smell clogging his nostrils. It occurred to him that he was somewhere very, very familiar, and it took just one more second of conscious awareness to realize that he was in a medcenter. It took one more moment for his sense of irony to kick in and he realized that, for being someone who devoted his life to restoring peace, his own being was in jeopardy far too often.

Many thoughts flicked through his mind as he struggled to remember what had happened to him … Tatooine … the Sith – for he knew that's what the creature had been, despite the Jedi records that the Sith had been extinct for a millennia. They had fought … and there was pain, and darkness.

Now there was light, and it hurt, though he supposed he shouldn't complain.

There was a rustle of movement by his bedside, and despite himself fear kicked in and he was scrabbling for his lightsaber until a warm hand closed over his, stilling his agitated movement.

"Damn, it's good to see you," someone said, and he recognized the voice, but his mind was cluttered in a frightened disarray and he couldn't seem to think. He tried to speak but there was only a hoarse croak where his voice should have been.

"Just relax."

The hand moved to his shoulder, and the feeling brought him automatic comfort. He willed himself to calm down, to anchor in that familiar voice that quietly brought him peace. If only he could open his eyes he was sure that everything would click into place, but it felt like hundreds of tiny grains of sand had lodged underneath his eyelids and nothing wanted to move, or seemed to work right. What had happened to him? And where was – !

He concentrated very hard. "Where…?" he managed to gasp out.

"The medcenter. Try to relax; you've been through a hell of a lot."

"No!" he shook his head weakly. "Where's – Anakin?" he demanded haltingly.

The voice was confused. "I don't know. I was more concerned with you, actually. It's a wonder you're still alive, but I'm sure you're used to the feeling."

He had to laugh, though, Force, it burned in his belly like fire. "Not…this bad …before."

The voice turned sober and thoughtful. "That's probably because we haven't seen anything like this before."

Something else clicked in his mind. "Oh, Force! Where is he?" Panic swelled his throat; one of the monitors by his bedside started beeping faster, picking up on his distress and his eyes shot open. "I can't feel him!"

"Relax! Please! Try, at least … " the hand on his shoulder tightened. "We're looking. I promise."

"I left him," he whispered softly. "I can't feel him …. He's not there… oh Force, no … " he breathed out achingly, ignoring and uncaring of the hot tears that were sliding down his bearded cheek. As his vision wobbled into focus he saw that his friend sat by his bedside, his dark hand resting on his shoulder. Mace shook his head despondently, and he slowly dropped his head back onto the pillow.

"I'm sorry, Qui-Gon. We can't find him."

He felt blackness flitting about the edge of his vision, but he pushed it back. It was too strong for him, though; he was still perilously weak.

"Obi-Wan," he whispered.

OOOOOOOOOO

Earlier that morning, two silent figures had stolen through the dark dawn of Mos Eisley, quietly intent on their task. The sight that met their disbelieving eyes, however, was not what they had expected.

"What the hell happened here?"

Barak surveyed the grisly scene in the back lot of the junk dealer's shop with a grimace of disgust; it was a hugely unpleasant sight indeed. Four bodies were strewn across the lot, one of them a mere child. It was a picture he'd seen more than once: arguments over a slave – especially the pretty, female ones – could cause rifts between even the best of friends, but that didn't make the loss of good income any easier for the slave trader to bear.

He was here for the boy, Skywalker; the child was to compensate for the junk dealer Watto's preferred racer losing in the prior day's Demolition Game out in Mos Eisley. From what Barak had heard, the racer had simply abandoned the arena, forfeiting the Game. It wasn't the first time that had happened, either; there were few Games as vicious as Demolition, and many a racer had lost his nerve before the last bell sounded. This racer, certainly, would have hell to pay when anyone who had placed bets on him caught up with him.

Barak shook off his contemplative mood as his colleague, Saarven, fidgeted uneasily beside him, clearly anxious to depart this place where the cold still of death hung over them, marring the early morning quiet with a noiseless, heavy oppression that settled upon their hearts. He had seen much death in his trade, but he didn't like it any better this morning than on any other day.

"Let's hurry," he grunted, pulling a scanner from his belt.

"There's nothing to take!" his companion squeaked, and Barak didn't begrudge the man's uneasiness – he was new to this line of work. Soon he would be jaded, so for now Barak simply ignored him.

Barak lifted his long knife from its sheath. "Well – there's no sense in wasting good transmitters," he explained bluntly, grinning smally when his companion turned a faint shade a green. "You've gotta learn, kid, to leave no credit uncollected."

He knelt by the first body, this one shrouded in a thick black cloak that obscured its features, running the scanner over the corpse and frowning when it bleeped a negative at him. No transmitter. Barak rose from his half-crouch and settled by the next body, passing the tiny scanner over the still form. He grinned triumphantly when he got a positive, and his grin grew wider when the screen displayed further information.

"I'll be damned. This one's still alive," he murmured. "Help me roll him over."

"Are you sure?" Saarven asked dubiously as they roughly twisted the young man onto his back. "He looks like a corpse to me."

Barak nestled his thick, callused fingers under the stubbled, strong jawline, and nodded approvingly when he found a pulse beating strongly under his touch. "Yeah, he's alive. Pretty out of it, though. Maybe took a knock or two in the fight." He leaned back and studied the inert form intently. Young, strong. He tipped up the face this way and that in the pale dawn light and eyed the fingers closely, noting the rough calluses that decorated them quite liberally.

"His hands probably aren't soft enough to sell him off as a pleasure slave, but his looks definitely might. Still, he looks strong." Barak considered. "Too bad there ain't more of him," he observed wryly, "we could make a fortune."

Saarven's eyebrow's shot up. "We're gonna sell him?"

Barak regarded the man like he were incredibly dense – which, the trader was beginning to believe, he was. "I came here to pick up a slave. This is one," he pointed out slowly and, he felt, reasonably. "He's got a transmitter. We're gonna make a hell of a lot of money."

"But the numbers don't match up," Saarven pointed out; "This isn't Skywalker."

"Do you see anyone around to complain?" Barak cracked harshly, waving a hand around vaguely at the empty lot – save for those unfortunate corpses – to make his point. He began rummaging through his bag, crowing softly in delight when he found the suppressor drug he was searching for.

"Just to be sure," he murmured, patting it reassuringly before pressing it to the unconscious Jedi's neck, sending Obi-Wan deeper into oblivion. "Come on."

Saarven eyed the remainder of the carnage uncomfortably. "What about this?"

"We'll leave it for someone else to find." Barak was stooping over Maul's body, searching for the controls to Obi-Wan's transmitter. "Grab the kid and let's go."

OOOOOOOOOO

Obi-Wan Kenobi was in hell.

Fire raced through his veins, contrasting sharply with the deathly chill he had felt in the presence of the Sith.

In his mind, his Master screamed to him for help, but Obi-Wan wasn't there, couldn't make it in time to prevent the unfeeling crimson blade from stealing the life of one he loved. Anakin, too, his small face older somehow and dark with hate, was shouting for him, and though the young Jedi struggled, a fire blossomed in his thigh, crippling him, driving him to his knees in agony even as he struggled to reach those who needed him.

He was crawling across the jagged, rock-strewn landscape, cruel gravel biting into his palms and knees and tearing his flesh … He fumbled furtively for his lightsaber but the clasp on his belt swayed emptily, and his grasping fingers met only air.

Obi-Wan gasped in shock as he felt his body being lifted and then dumped unceremoniously on his side, flopping awkwardly over a hard metal chair. The unexpected pain seemed to pull him from his dark dreams and propel him unwillingly toward a bright, harsh light. Obi-Wan blinked furiously, trying to orient himself.

"My lightsaber," he mumbled. "I lost it – I think I lost it … somewhere… please…?"

Voices grew louder in the din, and he could even make out a couple of surprised words.

"Shit! He's coming around already! Get the damn sedative!"

He felt the hypo at his neck a second before the drug was released into his system.

"He'll need his mind wiped – thinks he's a damned Jedi, this one does!"

Hands were grasping his sweaty head now, trying to force him to be still. More hands were fastening belts across his chest and legs, pinioning him to the chair. Obi-Wan fought both the sedative and the hands violently as he felt another man approach his side and fit a slim device across his forehead. The cool metal pressed against his face, the machine hummed, and his limbs were flooded with heaviness as the device clamped into skin, digging its tiny hooks in to anchor itself in preparation for clearing his mind of his memories.

"Please don't!" Obi-Wan strained against the restraints, thrashing wildly as the mindsweeper's long, thin needle slid into his temple. "_Trevanni," _he sobbed, his struggles weakening, "_Trevanni amas – amulli yason_!"

The man responsible for purging the slave's minds before the sale pursed his mouth in slight surprise at the unfamiliar language spilling in anguished pleas from the young man's lips. He'd been on many, many planets and had contact with aliens from many more, and he couldn't recall ever hearing this language before. _Still_, he shrugged, there were thousands of planets in the galaxy, and no one could visit them all. It didn't take a linguist, however, to translate the young man's entreaties for mercy. He turned away.

OOOOOOOOOO

_No! Oh, Force!_

The buzzing was growing in Obi-Wan's head, and he wasn't ready – _damn it! _

Confused and drugged, he didn't have the capacity to pull the Force to him to protect himself and suddenly the machine was inside his head, sifting mercilessly through his most precious memories and discarding them as unimportant while simultaneously grasping any knowledge he held that was deemed dangerous and blanketing it in a fog so thick that Obi-Wan soon forgot he had ever possessed it.

The Jedi gasped at the shock and pain setting in and made one last effort to protect his remembrances of his life before this hell, of Qui-Gon, the Temple, even Delian and Anakin, anything he could catch before it was cruelly extracted from his straining grasp. He latched onto the sorrow and hurt as well as the joy, cradled it and tucked it as far away as he could from the cold mental fingers that tore callously through his mind.

Finally he could hold out no longer, and with one last attempt to force the sweeper from his mind, Obi-Wan wearily relinquished his efforts and slid deep into darkness.

The unit continued humming and digging long after Obi-Wan lost consciousness, busy probing the Jedi's mind. Finally it beeped its completion, signaling the end of its task.

"Good." The trader smiled his satisfaction. Waving over the two slaves designated as his assistants, he indicated the limp form of the Jedi Padawan.

"Get this one ready for the block."

OOOOOOOOOO


	15. time marches on

A public thank you very, very much to everyone who responded and reviewed not only the last chapter, but any of the story. I am trying to reply to everyone. :-) I am truly grateful and encouraged by your reviews.

OOOOOOOOOO

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter thirteen: time marches on

The minutes continued to slide by, but all he could focus on were the hands.

There were hands touching him everywhere: running down the length of his body, feeling the hard musculature of his arms and legs. The hands were large, small, rough, and fine, some gentle and some harsh, and they continued to touch him, poking and prodding at him. Nothing was off-limits and he bit back a groan as one curious hand gripped hard on a recently-acquired bruise, squeezing the mottled purple-green flesh of his bicep tightly.

He couldn't remember where that bruise had come from.

Or any of them, for that matter, and there were quite a few, as well as scars he'd noted when he'd had a minute to give himself a cursory examination. Apparently he led a busy life.

As his vision steadied and he squinted hard through the bright suns' light, he took in the press of faces that must belong to the owners of the hands, but his mind was disjointed and hazy and he knew he'd been drugged – again – so that he would remain docile until he had been sold. A bit of him indulged in the ironic hope that he'd bring a good price; for someone who had doubted their self-worth nearly all their life, he wasn't sure he could take much more disappointment in himself.

They had only taken his good memories, his useful information; as part of their effort to tame him, they had not been kind of enough to relieve him of painful recollections, the immense failures and shortcomings that would weigh on his spirit, though they had been carefully cleaned of any knowledge that he could use to unlock his mind. They wanted him to feel as if he deserved his fate. He wondered if he did.

He sighed wearily, trying to ignore the jostle of bodies sliding alongside his, and the probing hands that wouldn't relent. Carefully he cradled the few, precious memories that had been left to him, that he had managed to hide when his mind had been _sanitized_.

It was the prettiest word he could find to describe a violating experience that still made him gag and retch if he even thought about _**wanting**_ to think about remembering.

He swallowed hard and buried his carefully hidden memories a little deeper, a little farther away from the surface where everything was so hazy. The best he could do right now was simply to ignore the throng that gaped and ogled and appraised him as he stood with the other slaves, on display for any interested party. Along with the hands, he tried to shut out the voices, too, that called questions to his handler, Barak:

"How many years is he?"

"Does he have any restrictions?"

"Work, pleasure, or both?"

He shivered; not at the temperature, although the suns were beating down harshly on his unprotected skin, but at the general unpleasantness he was sure was about to fill his life. He shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms over his sleeveless tunic and sliding his palms up and down his bare biceps as he tried to distance himself from his surroundings.

"Twenty-five Standard, none at all, and whatever your pleasure, ma'am," his handler answered the questions with a smile. Barak shook his head as another question floated through the crowd, and he replied easily, "No papers, no name. Yours to mold exactly how you wish."

More people were pressing in on him now, all different manner of species jostling each other roughly as they moved down the line of slaves, each one trying to choose the slave who could best service their needs. He himself had undergone various types of testing by his current masters to ascertain where his strengths lay: he had received high marks in physical ability and also mechanical savvy – amazingly, he felt, but maybe he had been a mechanic before this? His all-around marks had been so good that his masters considered him one of their best offers, and had hopes of selling him to a wealthier households. He wasn't sure that he cared, though he supposed it was better to be fed than not.

He ticked away the minutes, waiting for the auction to start. A hand grabbed his chin, jerking his face sharply to the side, and he yanked himself free of the man's grasp.

This tiny show of independence earned him a jolt from his transmitter that lasted just long enough to remind him of the generous helping he could expect later for being disobedient; despite himself, a thin sheen of cold sweat broke out across his forehead. They hadn't punished him anywhere obvious – had to keep his sale value high – but that didn't mean that Barak was totally without what he termed "means of persuasion," to keep him in line. He would have to be more careful.

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled to the man before him, and docilely allowed the hands to turn his face to the left and right. He knew it was wrong to allow himself to be treated this way …

He just couldn't remember why.

OOOOOOOOOO

He was twisting the bedsheet between his large hands, creating deep creases in the neatly-pressed fabric. He didn't care. His entire room was too pristine. Even Obi-Wan wouldn't like it here.

Obi-Wan. Force. He couldn't stop thinking about his missing Padawan. Couldn't stop thinking about that slight grin, that half-joking offer to buy his Padawan back. Thought about the last argument they'd had as they'd both tried to do what felt like the right thing. His memories played over and over like a macabre dance that wouldn't end, and he couldn't do anything about it; his mind was too agitated to meditate and his body was too weak to allow him to run to the nearest docking bay and commandeer a ship to take him to Tatooine.

He hated being so helpless.

Hated that they'd been thrust into a situation without having all of the facts; it would have been nice to know about Anakin's amazing midichlorian count and also, oh yes, that little matter of the Sith who was currently nowhere to be found.

Hated that Obi-Wan had heard the Force differently and acted on it without consulting him first.

Hated that they'd had to choose between their mission and each other, they who, despite their conflicts and disagreements, remained the other's truly most loyal friend.

He was going after his Padawan. He was resolute. He would not be swayed. They would argue, but he would win. He usually did; it was why he got assigned the most difficult missions. He was damned good at what he did, and he didn't feel that it was bragging to be pleased by that.

He'd been questioned time and again by the Council practically since he'd opened his eyes in the medcenter a few days ago, and there was nothing that he could see to show for it. Obi-Wan was still missing. Anakin was missing. They couldn't locate the Sith who had attacked the queen's ship.

"You realize there's a black cloud hovering over your head? I should comm the Coruscant Weathernet and let them know one of their shields must be faulty 'cause bad weather is getting in."

Qui-Gon's dour mood did not lessen in the face of his friend's gentle reprimand. "You're not funny," he said darkly, glaring at Mace as the other Master entered his too-bright room. He was carrying the latest batch of 'get-well' cards for Qui-Gon, which he dumped messily on the bedside table.

"I'm not trying to be," Mace retorted, swiping the stack into a semblance of order when the top cards wobbled precariously. Qui-Gon's mountain of cards was getting so tall that the Council member finally resorted to arranging makeshift fencing around them using four of Qui-Gon's "get-well soon" potted flowers.

Qui-Gon launched his opening salvo. "I'm going after him."

"Like hell you are," came the retort, and Qui-Gon scowled deeper – or tried to, but Force, it hurt so, so very badly. The skin of his belly pulled taut every time he moved or even breathed; he had never been in this much pain before.

"You can't even get out of bed," continued Mace. "You certainly couldn't make the trip to Tatooine."

Qui-Gon struggled to a sitting position in an attempted show of strength, but he knew he failed miserably when tears of pain streamed from his eyes at his effort. Mace sighed and gently slid a hand behind his friend's back to help him settle into a more comfortable arrangement amongst his multitude of pillows. He had almost as many pillows as get well cards.

"Mace," Qui-Gon continued undeterred, once he got his breathing back under control, "listen to me. I can't leave him. I have to go after him."

"Qui-Gon, I know he's your Padawan," Mace began gently, but Qui-Gon cut him off sharply.

"No! You're not listening." The Jedi Master forced strength into his weakening voice, and he was relieved when Mace carefully sat on his bedside so he wouldn't be pressed to shout so his friend could hear him.

"Obi-Wan and I are accustomed to getting into trouble – never intentionally, of course," he added indignantly when Mace snorted and raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and Qui-Gon stopped that sentence as soon as it had formed. He was good at "rephrasing" information, but to tell an outright falsehood was difficult for him.

"_**Almost**_never intentionally" he corrected, but honestly, they didn't … _**hardly ever**_ … go looking for adventure or danger. They accepted the peril that came with their calling; they really had no choice. One didn't simply "resign" from the Order, after all. Not when the Council saw everything in Dark and Light.

No, the problem was that they'd always gone after each other. And yet he was stuck here.

"We always go after each other," he repeated aloud softly. "I can't not be able to go find Obi-Wan, Mace, not when I know he's there. I know he is," Qui-Gon growled stubbornly. _Not when the Sith are looking for him._

Mace looked away sharply in frustration before turning back to his prone friend, his expression one of carefully schooled neutrality. "It's too dangerous for you to go. I'm not kidding; you wouldn't survive the trip, not for another couple of months at least. You said you can't feel him, Qui-Gon. How do you know he's still even on Tatooine? We can't find any trace of him or Anakin Skywalker."

Qui-Gon met his friend's disbelieving eyes evenly. "I'd have felt it if he died."

"How could you? You've been in a coma for weeks!" Mace shot back. "Look, Qui-Gon, I'm not trying to send your hope or Obi-Wan down in flames, but you need to understand that we have _**looked**_. We have scoured Mos Espa as carefully and discreetly as we could. The junk shop is gutted and abandoned. We can't sense him and we can't see him. We don't know where he is. If he is still there, then _**he's**_ hiding from us!"

"I can find him! I can. _**Please**_."

It was as close as Mace Windu had ever come to hearing his proud friend beg. His eyes narrowed and he surveyed Qui-Gon closely, using the Force to gently probe the distorted, chaotic energy surrounding the Jedi Master. Pain, of course, regret … fear?

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked quietly. "Qui-Gon? What haven't you told the Council?"

"Please," Qui-Gon murmured again softly, staring at him through wide, pleading eyes that seemed out of place in his sharp, leonine features. "I have to find him, Mace."

"I can't help you if you won't talk to me," Mace moved a hand to his friend's shoulder, remembering that the other Jedi found comfort in the gesture. "Qui-Gon… "

Qui-Gon's light eyes flicked closed briefly and re-opened slowly as he stared at his friend dully. "I do not believe the Sith was after Queen Amidala, as I stated earlier." He sounded so formal that it took a moment for his words to register to the Council member.

Mace almost drew back in surprise, but remembered that he was feeding strength to his friend. "No? You seemed so sure earlier that he'd been after the Queen."

"I lied," Qui-Gon said simply. That had been a falsehood that _**had**_ come easily to him.

"To the Council?" Mace demanded. "Damn it, Qui-Gon – "

"I had to," Qui-Gon interrupted, seeming stronger as he defended his actions. Indeed, he was almost forcing himself upright to project strength. Qui-Gon, Mace thought wryly, was always at his best when his chosen course of action defied what anyone else – especially the Council – thought.

"I'm sure you didn't," Mace cut in angrily, "What possible excuse could you have?"

"The Sith is after Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon explained quietly. "They wish to turn him to the Dark. I have to get to him first."

Mace stopped short, shocked. "After Obi-Wan?" he repeated. "Why didn't you say anything to the Council about this?" Qui-Gon only looked at him, and Mace shook his head in disbelief. "Obi-Wan wouldn't turn, Qui-Gon. He's too… Obi-Wan. He's too good."

"None of us are 'too good,'" Qui-Gon chastised gently, "and it's thinking like that which will get us into trouble."

Mace ignored the subtle reprimand; the Council's way of thinking had run things just fine for over a millennia. He wasn't worried. He changed tact. "How do you know the Sith was after Obi-Wan?"

"He told me," Qui-Gon murmured. "I do not know whether he is the master or the apprentice; I know only that he seeks to corrupt and turn my Padawan. Obi-Wan is missing, Mace – your search teams can't even find him. I can. I have to go after him."

"The trip could kill you," Mace protested weakly.

"If he turns, it will kill me," Qui-Gon said grimly.

OOOOOOOOOO


	16. all in a day's work

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter fourteen: all in a day's work

Obi-Wan was staring ahead blankly.

Qui-Gon was formulating a plan of escape.

Marjhan was pouting.

Delian was twitching in her sleep.

OOOOOOOOOO

Delian was twitching in her sleep.

The Corellian tossed restlessly on the hard bed provided for her by the thoughtful staff of the tiny Mos Espa medcenter, her attempts at rest disrupted by the dismal parade of images that flashed through her mind.

Tonight, she dreamed about Obi-Wan Kenobi.

She often had, since she'd first seen him in Watto's back lot. It wasn't hard to do, after all.

Still, she wished that she would have more of the Good dreams, and far fewer of the Bad. Particularly the one about the Room … it always ended there.

She told herself that it was just a dream, but it was so damned real that she had a hard time believing that, even though she always opened her eyes to familiar surroundings – there was never anything that looked like the unfamiliar Hallway in her dreams that led to that hated Room where she always found Kenobi's bloodied body.

She lay on the uncomfortable bed for a moment more, then sighed and pushed herself upright. Not even a hint of light shone in through the small, slatted windows: not quite dawn, then. No matter. Corellians needed little enough sleep, and so she rose from the bed, awkwardly smoothing down her rumpled flightsuit. One of the Healers had offered her a medcenter gown in place of the clothes she still wore from yesterday, but Delian had sternly refused. She wasn't by any means ashamed of her ass, but there was just no reason to be flaunting it in one those revealing gowns around little Anakin. Were it Kenobi she was going to visit, then hell, yeah, she'd have accepted it and most certainly flaunted it, but it wasn't Obi-Wan, so she just splashed some water on her face in the tiny adjoining fresher and set off through the quiet hall.

Where are you, Kenobi? What the hell is going on?

She missed him, and she wasn't ashamed to admit it.

She might possibly _**care **_about him, maybe, but that was something she didn't want to think about. Her emotions had taken quite a few spins around the racetrack since the Jedi had arrived and now he was missing. It was difficult to believe that it had only been a few days ago that she had hurried to Watto's shop in search of her errant mechanic-slash-racer.

It was even harder for her to believe what she had found instead.

Delian shuddered. An unconscious Anakin, a murdered Watto, and that … thing.

_Life has certainly been interesting since you showed up, lover,_ she thought sarcastically to the missing Jedi, wherever he may be.

As she strode through the cool, cycled air in the hallways towards the room that had been assigned to her unexpected charge, Delian tried to piece together the missing parts to this puzzle, but there were just too many things she didn't know. Kenobi had a hell of a lot of explaining to do when he finally showed up. She seriously doubted that the Jedi had attacked Anakin and killed Watto – the Corellian was placing bets that Gruesome had been responsible for that stunning bit of carnage – but it wouldn't be like Kenobi to leave Anakin just lying there. And she was certain that Kenobi _**had**_ been there – apart from the fact that his abandoned racer had been parked outside the shop, a long, silver-handled lightsaber was now clipped to her belt. It belonged to Kenobi, she was certain, and she had no intention of surrendering it to anyone other than its owner, _though,_ she mused, _he may have to do some 'special favors' to get it back._

The thought was deliciously warming as she entered Anakin's small room, and she hastily wiped the ridiculous smirk from her face lest the boy question her on it.

Anakin Skywalker was resting quietly in bed, and the fact that he was quiet at all suggested to the Corellian that he had been sedated; there was no other explanation for the lack of noise coming from the child.

"Hi," he said softly as she entered, and she replied in kind.

"Hi yourself, kid. How you feelin'?"

Anakin shrugged his small shoulders, and she was relieved to see that he seemed to do so without any pain. He'd been treated for moderate burns and kept at the medcenter overnight; this was the first time she'd seen him conscious. She knew she probably shouldn't push him for information already, but her curiosity was burning up her insides, and they needed to find Kenobi. She deemed it best to proceed with caution, even though she wanted to grill him with questions. He was just a kid, after all.

"Can you tell me what happened, honey?" she asked gently, reaching down to brush the blonde hair off his forehead. Anakin looked confused, and sad.

"I don't remember," he admitted. "The guy with the red lightsaber, he was looking for Obi-Wan… Delian," his blue eyes were wide, huge, as he thought back, "he … he hurt Obi-Wan, with Watto's transmitter."

Delian felt her gut clench sickly as she saw clearly in her mind's eye that twisted, sneering, tattooed face grinning up at her in a grotesque death mask when she'd stooped to roll over the body that she'd thought was Obi-Wan's. She was ashamed to admit she'd leaned over to the side and thrown up her breakfast.

That bastard had hurt Kenobi. "What else?" she asked faintly, her fingers anxiously caressing the smooth lightsaber casing, seeking comfort in the only thing she had that was the Jedi's. Anakin noticed and, if possible, his bright eyes widened even further.

"That's Obi-Wan's," the boy whispered in amazement.

"I know," she nodded. "I found it at Watto's. Can you tell me anything else about what happened, honey? Anything at all?"

Anakin shook his head slowly, distracted by his memories. "They were fighting … and I … I got angry."

"Angry?" Delian asked, eyebrow lifting. He sounded so concerned, but hell, she'd have been angry, too. She _**was**_ angry. Bastard. How dare he touch Kenobi? _Bastard got what he deserved, _she thought, grimly satisfied. She was a little surprised by the vehemence of her emotion and tried to focus on Anakin.

"What do you mean, you 'got angry', honey?"

"I don't know," Anakin whispered, huge eyes filling with confusion. Tears began sliding down his pale cheeks, and Delian carefully settled herself on his bedside, continuing to thread her fingers gently through his sandy flop of hair. "I just … _**hated**_ him … so much … I wanted to hurt him, but I couldn't think, I can't remember … "

"Shh," the Corellian soothed. "It's okay, sweetheart. Maybe when the meds wear off you'll remember," she encouraged warmly, "and then we'll find Obi-Wan."

"Obi-Wan's missing?" Anakin asked between sniffles. Delian primly retrieved a tissue from the box on the stand by the bed and handed it to him, drawing back just a bit as he blew his nose gustily.

"Yeah," she admitted regretfully. _Probably should have broken that little gem to him later._ She plastered a quick, reassuring grin on her face, though it was admittedly a bit sloppy. "But we'll find him once you're well. The doc says you can go home today."

Anakin brightened, but just as quickly sobered. "Watto's dead."

"I know," Delian tried to smile encouragingly. "But we'll get things sorted out. Why don't you rest now, and then I'll take you home, if you show me where it is."

"Okay," Anakin smiled, "Mom'll be glad to see me. I hope she's not too worried."

"Oh." As long as she'd known Anakin, Delian hadn't realized he'd had any other family. "Yeah, we definitely need to let her know where you are. Rest now, honey," she added, "and I'll see how soon we can spring you from this place."

OOOOOOOOOO

Qui-Gon was formulating a plan of escape.

In retrospect, it had seemed fairly easy. After all, he and Obi-Wan had managed to escape from Healers all over the galaxy throughout their long partnership.

Of course, he hadn't had a lightsaber hole drilled through his chest any of those times. And he'd had Obi-Wan with him.

His Healers kept him so drugged on pain medication that just thinking wore him out; it was hard to construct a decent plan for his liberation when he was continually drifting in and out of consciousness.

Also, Mace was on to him.

His friend stopped by several times a day; he was far more subdued once Qui-Gon had told him that he'd intentionally misled the Council, but still he came by with news and gossip and also, Qui-Gon was now certain, to make sure the Jedi Master was staying put.

Qui-Gon had thought that showing Mace how deep his chest wound was would keep his friend away long enough for him to escape, but once Mace had stopped gagging he had simply asked the Healers to fasten Qui-Gon's bandages in the back where he couldn't get at them. So now, not only had his idea not worked, he could no longer peel back the bandages in morbid fascination and poke at the healing wound.

Today Mace just looked tired. Qui-Gon pulled himself away from his deliberations long enough to focus on what the Council member was saying just in case Mace threw him a pop quiz to see if he had indeed been paying attention.

"….I don't know," Mace sighed quietly, irritation bleeding into his deep voice. "They're not pacifists like Alderaan, but I don't think this will bring them to war, either. I mean, how aggressive can a people be who let themselves be ruled by a pre-teenage girl?"

"That's rather judgmental of you," Qui-Gon automatically rebuked, but mildly as he did feel that his friend had a valid point. _Better than being ruled by a pre-teenage boy, though,_ he figured, reflecting on some of the crazy stunts Obi-Wan had pulled during the early years of his training. Force, that was a long time ago, before Obi-Wan had decided that he needed to be the Perfect Padawan.

"I know," Mace retorted, "it's just frustrating. Who would they go to war with, though? There's no link between the Trade Federation and the queen's murderer; it's even rumored that the Trade Federation may renounce their blockade on Naboo." He leveled a serious gaze on the prone Jedi. "Qui-Gon, we need you on this one," he said simply, "we need your insight. You and Obi-Wan were on the Trade Federation ship – "

"I need to find Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon interjected, uncaring of the frown that crossed Windu's face. "That is my duty."

"No, it's not," Mace retorted flatly. "Your duty is to the Order. We need to figure out what's going on here."

"I need to find Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon repeated firmly. "And I _**will**_ bring Anakin before the Council for testing."

Mace shook his head sharply, irritated but struggling not to show it. "Sure, Qui-Gon. I'd be interested in knowing how you plan to get out of bed and as far as Tatooine before you keel over, but perhaps your special brand of hard-headedness will keep you upright," he snorted. "You will do what you feel is right, of course."

Qui-Gon offered his most winning smile, though his eyes were cool. "I always do."

OOOOOOOOOO

Obi-Wan was staring ahead blankly.

He padded along quietly, part of a small group of slaves who had been purchased by the same man to assist on his moisture farm. He'd been told he would help with "harvest," but he had yet to figure out exactly what one harvested on this planet. The dubious-sounding "moisture"? Sand?

After a few moments during which Obi-Wan spent his time pondering what he would be harvesting, the man who had bought him dropped back just a bit until they were walking abreast, his dark eyes flicking continually towards the other slaves as they were herded along by his assistants. While the man's attention was diverted, Obi-Wan took the opportunity to appraise his new …owner. Perhaps half a head taller than he and twice what Obi-Wan had been told his own age was, this man walked with a pronounced limp but didn't seem hampered by it in the slightest, setting a pace for the small group that had a few of the new houseslaves scurrying to keep up. His shorn head glistened with perspiration in the evening heat, and his nose was bent at an angle that looked oddly familiar and suggested it had been broken at least once before.

He didn't seem unpleasant, nor could Obi-Wan sense anything malicious about him, though why he should automatically get a sense of the man's nature confused him just a bit. He shrugged and pushed that thought aside. He'd had his mind wiped; he should be glad he was just monstrously confused, and not a total, raving lunatic.

He thought, though, that if he reflected too much upon his predicament, he really wasn't too far from that, however. His name he clutched tightly to himself; he'd had to fight for it, and reach into the Locked part of his mind, but he needed it. His name was part of the Key to remembering everything else.

"Your handler says you don't have a name," his owner said without preamble. "That true?"

Obi-Wan decided to risk it. "My name is Obi-Wan," he said quietly, meeting the man's hazel gaze.

"Hm," His owner thought for a moment before announcing, "We'll have to change it. I paid for you, boy, and I can't have you running off in search of yourself or your past or whatever," he explained patiently though firmly.

"Please," Obi-Wan protested softly, fear trickling through him at the thought of losing the only thing left to him other than an overwhelming sense of the failures in his past life. "I swear to you that I will do everything you ask of me. I will work hard for you." His blue-grey eyes shone with sad earnestness. "Please," he said again. "They took my memories, and I have nothing else. My name is all I have left."

The other man's lips twisted in compassion. He'd heard the boy had had his mind wiped, but young Obi-Wan was the first slave he'd purchased who'd actually undergone the process. He was not a cruel man by nature; and while he was under no illusion that his slaves adored him, he treated them fairly, fed and sheltered them, and did not abuse his ownership.

It wasn't _**he**_ that the slaves of his household feared.

"Fine," he smiled slightly, trying to impart a sense of kindness to the frightened boy, wondering if it had been a mistake to purchase a mind-wiped slave. He couldn't imagine the hell it must be to suddenly lose your place in the world and all that you were. "Obi-Wan you'll stay then, so long as you don't give me any trouble. Do your job well and things will be just fine."

Obi-Wan nodded gratefully, offering a small grin in return as he dipped his head in respectful gratitude. "Thank you, Master."

OOOOOOOOOO

Marjhan was pouting.

It was an unpleasant but not unfamiliar scene by the Lady of the House; her temper was rivaled only by her cruelty and her insatiable lust for "finer" things in life.

She knew that she was hated and she loved the feeling, for she desired the adoration of no one; the darkness in her soul spat and shied at light, and she would not allow herself to be swayed by any warm emotion. Her own husband did not love her, and she did not love him. They simply co-existed together like strangers with conjugal visits.

But now she was bored. She had been very bored lately, so she prowled around their spacious home – cool despite the heat outdoors – looking for something to do that would ease her restlessness, some bit of misery or mischief she could cause to fill the empty ache inside.

Her previous playmate was gone, and though she missed his company she wasn't sorry. He hadn't been much of a challenge at all, so when Risq had taken him back to help with the harvest, she hadn't minded. She wished that he were here now, though; he could be delightfully amusing at times, and her husband had been away at the slave auction for days. The house seemed so empty.

She was almost desperate enough to wander near the kitchen to see what the house slaves were doing. Her husband was adamant, however, that she wasn't allowed to interfere with the house slaves, and it might prove too tempting for her to be so close to her lessers and not be able to have any sort of fun. But if she were patient and pliant, she could please Risq into allowing her one of the new slaves for her own pleasure. Usually he made her wait until after harvest, but she was bored _**now**_ and she was skilled at pleasing her husband; she might be able to coax a new toy from him.

She would know soon enough, for as she waited at the window she could see Risq's landspeeder in the distance; it had to be her husband, for all of the farms on Tatooine were sprawling, isolated plots, and no one else would have need to travel their long, sandy road.

Marjhan sighed.

She was so bored.

OOOOOOOOOO


	17. the lady of the house

Story-related A/N: The inspiration for Marjhan, and actually the entire story, came from the matchbox twenty song "Downfall" and also Rufus Wainwright's "Halleluiah."

_Italics are flash-forward in time._

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter fifteen: the lady of the house

_She knew that he was afraid, and it excited her. He had been strong once, resilient, proud and indifferent to her, but that had been some time ago, and she had been working on him steadily since his arrival. He was so close to falling from his pedestal, and when he did she could finally enjoy a well-earned reward. She hated him as much as she loved him, if love even existed for her anymore. Lust was her goddess, and the fulfilling of which was truly the only thing that pleased her. _

_And he certainly provided her with plenty of opportunity for lust. _

_Sometimes, she lusted after his obedience. That he would do what she asked without hesitation._

_Sometimes, she lusted after his body, which she took when she wanted. She had paid for him, after all. And he looked so amazing in the suns' light that sometimes she just had to take him to convince herself that he was real – gods, he'd been beautiful when she'd first laid eyes on him, but months under the sun had tanned his pale skin so that his bright blue eyes shone even brighter by comparison, and his endless labor for his masters had burned every spare ounce from his lean body. He was perfect, and she loved the unyielding feel of his hard, muscular frame beneath hers. _

_Today, however, she lusted after his fear, after the primal scent of his terror, of the slight, wonderful widening of his beautiful eyes as they filled with dread at her coming. It thrilled her to her core to hear his quiet moan of despair as the drugs flooded his system, and when his eyes darkened as the sedative took hold she couldn't restrain from stroking his cheek excitedly. Absently, she noted the thick bristles scraping beneath her fingertips and realized that he'd have to shave again – she preferred her Obi-Wan clean-shaven. _

_Her roving fingers drifted upward to toy with the short ginger strands resting against his jawline. The long, thin braid he'd arrived with had disappeared weeks ago, sheared off by her own hand and neatly tucked away in one of her keepsake boxes. He watched her quietly, though his mouth tightened anxiously. _

"_Are you afraid?" she asked in a low voice, a hint of a smile twisting her lips, "of me? You don't have to be." _

_She said it not as a reassurance, but as a challenge – for he had proven to be quite a trial thus far. He was much hardier and had lasted longer than any of her previous toys, and there was an inner determination to him that kept him on his feet long after he should have been driven to his knees. _

"_No?" He sounded faintly amused, but the drugs were sliding deeper into his body and he looked at her dully, barely turning his badly bruised face toward her. "I find that difficult to believe."_

_Marjhan put a hand to her chest in mock surprise even as a knowing smile crossed her mouth. "It's your choice, my beautiful Obi, pleasure or pain. Well, almost always your choice," she amended. "You just choose poorly when it's up to you."_

_Obi-Wan shifted painfully, and beneath her hand she could feel his broken ribs grating harshly against each other. She increased the pressure of her fingertips and smiled cruelly when he jerked. _

"_Why do you do this?" he whispered, his voice rough and panting when he could finally speak past his agony. _

_Marjhan made a show of considering his query, but the answer was already on her lips because she asked herself the same question every night. _

_"Because you refuse to come to me willingly. Because unless you do, you're not entirely mine. And because I want to. Do I need any other reason than that?"_

_He regarded her wryly as the last light faded from his eyes. "Does the fact that I don't want you to matter at all?"_

_She just smiled. _

OOOOOOOOOO

"What's this?"

It was the second time he'd been asked about in that manner in less than a month. The first time had been when Biggs had asked about him. The man's tone had been bitter and jealous, and had made Obi-Wan want to sink into the ground in shamed embarrassment and some indignation - probably the reason that particular memory had been left to him.

This time it didn't sound like Biggs at all, though he still wished he could disappear into the cold stone floor as he was again surveyed by questioning eyes.

Her voice was smooth as shimmersilk, sliding over him as greedily as her lustful, hungry gaze. Her dark hair hung in thick, curled tendrils down her slim, bare back, and her red lips were parted in a ravenously pleased smile as she appraised one of her husband's most recent acquisitions, twisting her long-nailed fingers together as if that were the only way she could keep herself from reaching for him.

She directed an absolutely enraptured gaze at her husband, and Obi-Wan could easily see how his Master had fallen for this woman, though she screamed danger to the young slave's senses.

"I want him," she said simply.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened and he automatically backed up a step, his gaze going fearfully to his Master. There was something about her tone that unnerved and discomfited him. His Master smiled reassuringly at him, giving him some small measure of comfort.

"It's okay, Obi-Wan. I want you to stay with the other slaves. Go with Jaq; he'll show you where you'll sleep and eat. The rest of the day you can spend getting yourself acquainted with the farm." He placed a warm hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, completely ignoring the woman. "I think I can trust you, boy," he continued quietly, "but remember that your transmitter'll activate if you go beyond the boundary markers."

Obi-Wan dipped his head, relieved by his Master's kindness. "I understand. Thank you."

He glided silently from the room and back to the house's main landing, where Jaq - one of the farm overseers - and the other newly-purchased slaves waited. He wasn't sure why his Master had taken him in to meet the Lady of the house, but his Master had been very kind to him so far and he didn't want to seem ungrateful, even if the Lady gave him chills despite the blazing desert heat.

_I have a bad feeling about this,_ he thought, and the words were familiar though he couldn't remember why.

OOOOOOOOOO

As soon as the young slave had left the room, Marjhan rounded on her husband.

"I want him," she repeated firmly, her lips curving in a gratified smile as she recalled cornflower eyes in a tanned face, the well-muscled body, the palpable sense of fear pervading him. Gods, it was beautiful to her.

Her husband lifted his dark eyes to meet her, offering a tight, smug smile. "I knew you would, he fits your 'type'," he conceded. Risq's smile widened tauntingly at the woman across from him. "You can't have him."

"Then why did you bring him to me? Parade him in front of me?" Marjhan demanded, pouting. "To tease me?"

"As you tease me?" Risq asked wryly. "I think not, my Lady," and if she heard the bitter sneer in his voice, she ignored it, "I just didn't want you _**accidentally**_ stumbling onto him one of these days while I was away, and just _**assume**_ he's yours for the taking. He's not."

"Why?" She shrugged idly, to show him she didn't care all that much and was simply curious. He wasn't fooled. "What makes him better than any other slave you've brought home?"

Risq shrugged. "A hunch. I like him," he admitted unashamedly, sounding uncaring that he might consider one of his slaves almost as human as she was. Marjhan found it revolting. "He'll work hard."

Marjhan flicked her long eyelashes at him, "He looks like he could work hard, doesn't he?" she agreed, purring. "I could find out, if you'd like."

"I don't think so, dear," Risq rounded on her firmly. "You keep your sick games to yourself, do you understand? Don't touch _**any**_ of them."

Marjhan smiled, though her eyes burned as hatred and lust warred in her dark stare. "Of course. And darling?" she called as he turned to leave.

"Yes?" he asked wearily, wondering if bringing Obi-Wan here had been a mistake. He knew already that it was.

"When do you leave again?"

His eyes hardened as he glared spitefully at his wife. "I hate you," he said simply.

She flashed him her best bedroom eyes and let her fingers trail across her tight bodice caressingly.

"I deserve it," she agreed.

OOOOOOOOOO

"I can't believe I'm helping you with this," Mace whined.

"It was only a matter of time before you came to your senses," Qui-Gon placated sensibly, as calmly as he could manage though his insides were tightened into writhing knots of agony. He tried to focus on the pain of his stomach wound being jarred – anything to keep the anxiety at bay:

He was finally going after his Lost One.

"And Yoda is fine with this?" Mace asked disbelievingly.

"Arranged the transport himself, he has," Qui-Gon confirmed. The tall Master turned his head so that his chin aligned with his right shoulder, long mahogany strands of his greying hair sliding over his rough cloak to pool into his hood. "He understands how dangerous it would be if Obi-Wan is taken by the Dark," he murmured grimly, cautiously watching that no one passing by overheard him.

"I think you're overreacting, but I am glad that you're going to look for him – even you're crazy for going now instead of waiting like the Healers want you to." Mace sighed, passing a hand over his smooth forehead. "You're no good to him dead."

"I'm fine," Qui-Gon argued weakly. "Trust me, it looks worse than it is."

"That's not reassuring at all," Mace retorted, "And the last words I want to hear from you are 'trust me.' Force, do you remember what happened the last time you said that?"

A slow grin crossed Qui-Gon's face. "As a matter of fact, I do – wasn't that when you ended up – "

"Yes!" Mace interrupted sharply. "And I ended up scrubbing rocks for a month. You only got off because you're Master Yoda's toadie."

Qui-Gon almost laughed, but it hurt to even think about laughing, so he didn't. "I'm sorry, his what?"

Mace snorted. "Don't play innocent with me. You know exactly what I said and that you are." The doors to the docking bay hissed open, and Mace wheeled his friend inside, handing him off to the docking attendant. "Hey," he said gently, "bring him home, okay?"

Qui-Gon nodded sharply. "I won't come back without him."

"May the Force be with you both," Mace said formally, gripping his friend's shoulder.

Qui-Gon met his gaze levelly. "I'll find him," he promised quietly.

_I'm coming, little one. _

OOOOOOOOOO


	18. coming to terms

For Jacinta. Thanks. :-)

OOOOOOOOOO

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter sixteen: coming to terms

He felt a shiver race down his spine, and he immediately knew the reason for his sudden discomfort:

She was watching him.

The thought unsettled the young slave, because he didn't know how much longer his luck would hold and he'd be able to avoid her. He could always sense her presence when she was close; a palpable flicker of fear stole through him, chilling him despite the warmth of the suns. Oftentimes the pungently thick mantle of dread came from the other slaves, drifting through the still, hot air and tickling the back of his sunburned neck.

Sometimes he just knew she was there because of the way his body suddenly tensed, hard muscles inexplicably tightening as his adrenaline surged. The sand around him shimmered, a warning screaming from the earth that _She_ was coming, the tiny clouds of dust rising from her firm footfalls sending ahead a message for him to be wary. He marveled at how in tune with his surroundings he was, and was curious that none of his fellow slaves shared his connection to his environment and the people who inhabited his life. It was wonderful, it was humbling, and it was also frightening to the young slave, and he wished desperately for the guidance of someone who could explain it to him.

But there was no one. He was alone, and he had a job to do while still watching for the Lady of the House. The air had calmed: Marjhan had ceased watching him from a distance and moved on for the moment. He could hear Jaq on the other side of the hill directing the workers on the west ridge, and the tense set to his voice had disappeared along with Marjhan. She had that effect on all of them, slaves and overseers alike – she rarely appeared with good intentions on her mind.

Still, despite his constant wariness, Obi-Wan didn't worry overmuch when his master was around. Risq honored his promise to the young slave and Obi-Wan had been kept clear of the Lady of the house since that first unpleasant meeting. Obi-Wan soon discovered however that his Master was frequently away from the sprawling farm, going to the local settlements to oversee the buying and selling of his stock and often staying away for several days. Obi-Wan was extremely cautious then, staying as far from the main house as he could. He'd done well so far in managing to avoid her, carefully attending to his assigned work even as he pondered unlocking a life he couldn't remember.

And then one bright, clear day, his luck ran out.

OOOOOOOOOO

Obi-Wan straightened slowly from his hunched position, gently rolling his broad shoulders back to work the kinks out. The sun was burning his tanned skin to a light crisp, but he was nearly done fixing the vaporator and then he could rest for a minute inside the cooled air of the slave quarters. Whatever he'd been in his life before this, he was a damned good mechanic now and Risq had immediately put him to work repairing broken-down machinery and droids on the farm. So far, there hadn't been any shortage of work to do, and Obi-Wan appreciated it immensely; when he wasn't keeping busy, stray thoughts would creep into his mind, stirring shadows of old memories that weren't tangible enough for him to hold on to, but that whispered a sense of loss to his confused, grasping soul.

It was altogether frustrating for the young man. He knew that he had Lost something before he had come here, but he couldn't recall anything beyond that. All he had was his name, some depressing memories, and a tiny, nagging feeling that this was all wrong, that something horrible had happened and he needed to remember what it was. He needed to. Didn't he? He should be eager to reclaim what memories and pieces of himself he could, but he was a little bit hesitant because of the whispers of loss, of failure. Maybe he really didn't want to remember what he'd Lost. Why should he? He was fed, clothed, he had a … job of sorts.

_Freedom,_ his mind whispered. _The stars._

'The stars?' Obi-Wan smiled to himself. Perhaps he was letting his mind wander just a little too far from reality. Sneaking outside past lockdown time to watch the suns set was as close to the stars as he'd likely ever be.

A whisper breathed past him, pulling his startled mind abruptly from his drifting thoughts. Deathly cold stole over his body at the same moment he felt slender fingers tangle messily in the short ginger hair at the nape of his neck, and he knew with sickening clarity that he had let his guard down for too long.

"Well, hello there, love,"

The casual words were spoken in a throaty growl so sweet that he knew instantly they were anything but innocent. Hastily he ducked his head, jerking away from her touch as he pretended to critically survey his work on the vaporator.

"Ma'am," he murmured politely, not meeting her dark eyes as he reached down quickly for his toolbox near his boots. "If you'll excuse me, I have to finish here and I'm short on time." It was a lie, and she knew it.

"Please," Marjhan scoffed, "you're quite efficient enough; I seriously doubt you're behind on anything. You're trying to avoid me," she said knowingly, grinning widely as she trailed long, teasing fingers across the back of his tight breeches when he bent for the case at his feet. Obi-Wan started in surprise and straightened, shooting his mistress an accusatory glare.

"You're so cute when you're irritated, puppy." Marjhan added pleasantly but firmly, "but wipe that look off your face. The next time you even _**think**_ about looking at me with anything less than complete adoration, you will be punished. Severely."

Obi-Wan didn't think it wise to point out that were his Master around, the Lady of the House wouldn't even be allowed _**near **_him, so he simply smiled tightly and nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he snapped off smartly, realizing in retrospect it probably wasn't wise to antagonize her.

She let it go, though, instead shivering delightedly at his words and ignoring his tone.

"I like that. Say it again," she commanded.

Obi-Wan's shoulders were so tense it made his chest ache; his heart hammered in his ears and the sand at his feet was screaming at her proximity, but he murmured obediently, "Yes, ma'am," as the corner of his mouth curled up bitterly.

Marjhan nodded in pleased satisfaction, allowing her eyes to travel slowly down his body before drifting back up to meet his cautious gaze. "Yes, you'll do fine. I thought you would."

She turned and strode off toward the house, leaving Obi-Wan standing uncomfortably in the bright sun.

OOOOOOOOOO

He was unsurprised, just a short time later, to receive a summons to appear before the Lady of the House. Jaq had given him the message with what Obi-Wan felt was an unhealthy amount of trepidation, and it did nothing to ease the tight bands of tension that had settled around his chest from her earlier appearance. Marjhan set off every alarm in his head, until the cacophony of klaxons blaring roared through his mind and disrupted his nervous attempts at composure. He ran through a few calming exercises without really knowing how he knew them, but they seemed to work and the mental alarms quieted to a single, tense hum at the base of his skull that kept him gratefully alert.

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his copper hair nervously and brushed the sand from the knees of his dun-colored trousers as he stood before the entryway to his Master's sprawling home. Drawing a deep breath, he stepped inside, feeling grateful for the cool air inside the home though it chilled the nervous sweat that had beaded on his back and made his tunic cling uncomfortably to his skin.

Marjhan's personal servant waited for him just inside the door, a young, vibrant humanoid girl whose listless sable eyes gleamed dully in stark contrast to her cheerful demeanor. She gestured for Obi-Wan to follow her as she silently led him down a long hall lined with ornate, finely woven tapestries and littered artfully with tall emerald vases. The quiet splendor of his Master's home made Obi-Wan smile – a smile that quickly faded when he nodded his thanks to the girl and strode through the door she indicated into Marjhan's waiting room.

The Lady of the house eyed him lustily as he entered, stopping abruptly before her where she reclined on a large, plush sofa. He nodded shortly by way of greeting, his hands automatically grasping to slide inside his tunic sleeves. He looked down at his folded arms in some surprise, but shook it off, focusing instead on the woman before him.

"I'm afraid that won't do at all, little one," she smiled, and the slyly teasing moniker crawled up his spine like he had been called that before by someone other than the woman before him, and by someone with far better intent.

"You kneel in front of me, here," she instructed tersely, waving her hand to encompass a small space before the couch and indicating it was where he belonged.

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise but covered it with a stubborn, patient smile. "I'm afraid not, my Lady."

Marjhan rose gracefully. In her bare feet, she scarcely reached his chin, but her dark eyes were unwavering in their determination. "I warned you just this morning about your impertinence, Obi-Wan. Didn't I?" He only stared at her, refusing to reply, which irritated her further.

"Do you think I am incapable of making you do what I want?" She walked around behind him, allowing her long fingernails to graze his tunic, caressing him lovingly as he inched away from her touch. "You're standing here, biding your time, thinking you can handle whatever I dish out to you. And maybe _**you**_ can," she murmured speculatively, draping her arms across his shoulders from behind, her chest pressed into his back, her hips bumping against him as she leaned into him, her breath stirring against his ear. He tensed but remained still, fighting to keep the nervous tremors from rocking his slim frame as the intent behind her words was immediately understood. "But let me ask you this," she continued easily, confirming his anxiety, "do you think me incapable of using others to get to you?"

Obi-Wan's jaw tightened in reaction to her coldly blatant statement, and Marjhan smiled, knowing that she had him in the palm of her hand. Gods, he would be fun. She twisted the long braid draped over his shoulder between her fingers lazily, rubbing the colorful beads idly. "My servant Miral, perhaps?" she suggested. "One of your fellow slaves?"

She came to face him again, wrapping her hand securely in the thin braid and she yanked hard, bringing his face level with hers. His eyes widened in shocked pain but he made no sound other than a startled gasp, which disappointed her. How pleasant that he came with a leash, though!

"Do not make the mistake of believing you can appeal to my better nature so I would spare anyone in my attempts to reach you." She grinned, perfect white teeth gleaming. "I don't have a 'better nature,' Obi-Wan. And I _**will**_ do whatever it takes. Are we understood?"

Obi-Wan nodded tensely, his bright eyes stinging with salty tears. "Yes, ma'am," he agreed tightly.

She smiled. "Excellent. You learn quickly. Now, kneel."

OOOOOOOOOO

Delian Ani-Suru stared out the small window aimlessly, watching the bustling evening traffic without really paying it any mind. The steady stream of passersby that had been flowing through the dirty street all afternoon was slowing to a thin trickle as the last of the slaves who had worked for dealers such as the late Toydarian Watto made their way home for the night; the suns were sinking beneath the horizon, and all but a few bars and cantinas were closed. In a small town like Mos Espa, there really wasn't much to do after dark. To Delian, the quiet was as unnerving as it was oddly welcome: though she wanted to formulate a plan for locating Kenobi, the calm atmosphere also allowed … other … thoughts to creep in – intense thoughts that made her miss him achingly, while doing nothing to help her actually _**find**_ him.

"I should have kept that damn transmitter," she muttered darkly.

"What's that, dear?" Shmi Skywalker glanced over her shoulder to where the Corellian stood at the hovel's tiny window. As soon as Anakin had been well enough to leave the medcenter, Delian had brought him home to his anxious mother. Now, she waited, quietly considering her next move.

"Nothing," she replied reassuringly, ignoring the empty ache in the pit of her stomach. "Just trying to decide what to do next. How's Anakin?"

"He's resting." The older woman sighed, dropping her weathered hands onto the table as she leaned forward wearily, slim strands of dark hair sliding out from the mass bundled at her neck to rest on her tanned cheek. "The Jedi have brought nothing but pain into my home. I wish they had never come," she murmured bitterly.

Delian looked over in surprise, fingers automatically caressing the gleaming silver lightsaber swinging from her belt. "Obi-Wan didn't mean you any harm. Anakin said he was trying to help."

"If the Jedi had not come, the one who nearly killed Anakin would not have come, either. If Qui-Gon hadn't been here, Anakin would never have been able to race that day." Shmi's shining eyes gleamed in the dim light. "And Watto would not have died. Now we will be sold again – and who would buy a mother and her child?"

"Wait, what?" Delian blinked. "But… since Watto's dead, doesn't that make you free?"

Shmi smiled politely at Delian's ignorance, and the Corellian tried not to be irritated by the woman's seeming condescension; Delian readily admitted that her own mood was far too frayed to accurately assess anyone else's intentions.

"No," Shmi replied, "We still have our transmitters. Without being legally freed by our masters, Anakin and I would be considered runaway slaves and likely caught and punished."

Delian shook her head, still not quite comprehending. "But, you have your transmitters, don't you? You took them from Watto's shop when you went looking for Anakin, right?"

"I did, yes," Shmi agreed, straightening. "But that's not enough. We have no money, we'd have nowhere to live. And we couldn't pay to have our implanted transmitters removed." Shmi rose, giving Delian a warm if tired smile. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to look in on my son again."

"Of course." A sudden thought struck the Corellian as Shmi's earlier words registered – a small, nearly insignificant gleam of hope that suddenly sparked in her tired mind. "Wait, please! Who's Qui-Gon?"

OOOOOOOOOO


	19. feet of clay

Through Glass: A TPM Tatooine Rewrite In Which Anakin Does NOT Win the Podrace

By: Syntyche

chapter seventeen: feet of clay

The house was dark and quiet when Risq finally returned. He loved the soothing cool of his home, calm and comforting after long days barely tucked away from the hot suns in a cramped seller's stall at the market in Mos Eisley. He hated that cityport, but it was not only the closest gathering place for business in the area, it was also the most affluent, a favorite of Jabba the Hutt's, and the biggest tourist draw around – if Tatooine could even be said to have any "tourists." Most if not all new visitors to the planet usually either stopped only to refuel their starships and move on, or they had somehow managed to get themselves lost in the vastness of the galaxy and couldn't afford to leave.

It was dirty, sandy, dusty, and grungy, but Risq was more than content with his home on Tatooine. It was quiet and secluded, and no one bothered him – and that was all he wanted out of life at this point. As a young man, he had barely escaped the silly skirmishes between the power-hungry clans of his birth home, using all of his meager resources to find a way off-planet. At first, he'd only stopped on Tatooine to refuel and be on his way, but, interestingly, he'd actually come to like it here. There was something about the simplicity of Tatooine that appealed to him – the people in Mos Eisley were too wearily battered down just trying to get through the routine everyday of life to be as pretentiously shallow as most Core Worlders, but neither were they totally uncivilized like many of the clans beyond the Outer Rim. Risq liked to think of Tatooine as his "happy medium," that beautiful utopia beyond the grasp of the Republic.

He was truly a happy man.

He'd been much happier of course before he'd married Marjhan, but he had learned early in his varied life that war demanded sacrifices. When he'd met the exotic woman who quickly became his wife, he had gladly shared his wealth and home; anything he had that pleased her he gave as soon it came into his fingers. He hadn't realized at the time that her hunger was not as easily sated as he'd first believed, and that her moods changed in an instant, as volatile and dangerous as the shifting sands that surrounded him. Years spent at her side had made him suspicious, and once his slaves started disappearing from around the farm, he could no longer dissuade himself from seeing her for who she really was. It was a pity he had become too weak, too addicted to her to cast her off.

Lately she'd set her sights on one of his newest acquisitions – young Obi-Wan. Risq had a feeling that despite his efforts to protect the slave, Marjhan would succeed in the end. It was a game to her, and one that she would expend no small interest in winning.

He entered the cool sitting room where his wife waited for him, idly skimming a datapad. Marjhan tossed him an irritated scowl, barely raising her eyes to meet him as he strode through the door and Risq restrained a sigh – so much for the unfettered adoration offered by a loving wife after time apart from her hard-working husband.

"What's the problem, my love?" he asked mockingly, dropping heavily beside her on the settee with a sigh of relief. He'd put too much strain on his bad knee lately and was paying for it now. He really needed to have Jubily get his ice pack and meds. He gingerly straightened his leg out in front of him, flexing the muscles carefully as he reached for the slaves' call button but the first words out of his wife's mouth arrested his movement while confirming to his tired mind that he'd already lost the first battle in this newest conflict with Marjhan – and his absence in Mos Eisley may have cost him the war.

"He doesn't scream," Marjhan retorted immediately, shifting away from him as he threw her a disgusted glance. "Or get angry, or anything. He's too quiet."

Risq's eyes closed in revulsion. He couldn't understand Marjhan's fascination with the pain of others, a fascination that ran deep through her flawed character. He stabbed the call button angrily.

"Perhaps you could try leaving him alone, like I asked you to," he snapped brusquely, instantly alert, the pain in his knee pushed aside. "Surely it would drive him mad to be parted from your charming company? I know that _**I**_ rue the time we're apart."

"You're making fun of me," Marjhan simpered, bottom lip outthrust in a thin, teasing line of ruby. _If she thought she was getting any pity from him she was destined for disappointment, _he thought irately.

"Yes," he agreed shortly, "I am. I'd prefer it if you left him and the others alone, you know. I need them to actually _**work**_. I told Obi-Wan that I would keep him safe from _**you **_and I intend to follow through on that."

"Oh, he doesn't believe that anymore," Marjhan replied easily. "I took care of that right after you left."

"Damn you," Risq sighed, but without much heat behind it. He should have known better than to make foolish promises to a slave – few could outlast the Lady of his house. He counted himself a fool that her inner fire and determination had been two of the traits that had made her so desirable to him at first. Had he only known where she would channel her energy in the future, he wouldn't have given her a second look. "You should leave him alone."

Marjhan's gaze was coldly calculating as she fixed it upon her husband, eyes gleaming intently under her sooty lashes. "Why?"

It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, and his answer was the same he'd given her so many times before. "Why? Because he's young, strong, and smart, and he does good work. He's not your personal toy to play with and punish as you choose."

Her lip eased out a little farther into a pout he'd once found attractive; now it served only to annoy him. "I'm just playing a little. He's fine. Better than fine, actually," she added with a lecherous smirk designed to irritate him further, and of course it did.

"_**Listen**_," He surged heavily to his feet, the pain of his old injury weighting him down and almost causing him to stumble. Sheer force of will kept him upright and the glower he fixed upon her would have cowed anyone else – anyone but his darling wife. "You know that you can have your pick of the slaves _**after**_ the harvest, but our lovely antiquated healer droid can only patch them up so many times after you're done 'playing.' Now, I mean it. Harvest is important – "

"But you'll work him too hard!" she protested dramatically. The setting suns illuminating the wall behind her illustrated the gesticulations of her shadow, looming behind her as if her true nature was trying to escape the small, seemingly helpless form it was encased in. "You might hurt him," she added, with a mock-innocence that made him grit his teeth. A serving girl sidled noiselessly into the room, bringing his requested items, and Risq was surprised to see a jagged furrow sliding crookedly through the pale skin of her cheek.

"Jubily?" Cold dread knifed through his gut, twisting and tensing, and Risq turned disbelieving eyes onto his languid wife. "Marjhan?" he queried dazedly, wishing he were anywhere but right here at this moment. "What happened to Jubily?"

A slow smile spread across her lovely face, illuminating her dark eyes. "Obi-Wan wasn't quick enough," she said simply. "Which is astounding because he's got some _**amazing**_ reflexes – I think he surprised even himself!"

"Damn you," he whispered furiously, "Damn you anyway!" He turned away from her, shaking his head in despair, but his wife's next words stopped him short.

"If it makes you feel any better, dear, she's better off than _**he**_ is."

OOOOOOOOOO

Frigid water from the slave quarter's shower sluiced over his sodden skin, dulling the coppery fire of his ginger hair and dripping steadily off the end of his nose. He huddled in the corner, wishing the ice water would numb him all the way through, could somehow deaden the ache in his body and quiet the desperate screaming of his terrified mind. He'd been in here for quite some time, just letting the water spill over him, but he still felt so damned dirty. He'd have stripped off his clothes, but he didn't have the energy or desire; his simple tunic hung heavily across his broad shoulders, soaked and clingy, and his waterlogged boots were chafing the skin of his calves through his sodden trousers. He idly watched the streams of water rush toward the drain set in the floor, trying to lose himself in the mesmerizing swirl of the tiny whirlpool. So far, no luck – even in the midst of the spattering droplets he could still only see a slash of deep red in pale skin; a mark of his failure that someone else would bear forever.

His eyesight wavered as the cold stole deeper into his body, but as his blue-grey eyes unfocused, the slit of red only became wider, longer, filling his mind with the memory of his error.

"Obi-Wan?"

The voice was familiar; comforting but sad somehow as it wound its way past the hum in his ears to reach his tired mind.

_Master,_ he recognized dully, and wondered why he was disappointed when his eyes slowly steadied and Risq swam into focus.

"Aw, damn," his master mumbled, awkwardly fumbling to shut the water off. The punishing streams pouring down on him ceased and Obi-Wan blinked, uncurling clumsily and pushing himself to his feet, knowing that his master would be dissatisfied with him for not being at work – after all, if he wasn't disappointed in him, why would Risq have let Marjhan have him, after he gave his word …?

Somewhere in Obi-Wan's mind was implanted the firm belief that his master would never let him down … that his master would always come for him. But Risq hadn't come.

"Obi-Wan, what is it?" Risq touched the young man's shoulder gently. "What happened? Come on, let me help you…"

Without bothering to wait for a reply, Risq extended a hand to the other man. Obi-Wan's hooded eyes were confused but he gripped the proffered help automatically and rose to his feet, then just as quickly staggered and fell, slamming to the slick floor on his hip and side. He didn't make any noise as he dropped, he simply rolled all the way onto his back, staring glassily up at the ceiling.

Risq mumbled a startled curse and knelt down, cursing his wife to seven levels of hell and ignoring the chilly wetness that was seeping into the knee of his breeches. Obi-Wan's wide ice eyes drifted over to fix on him from where the slave lay on the cold, wet floor but he said nothing. He didn't have to; the look of betrayal shining through layers of pain said it all quite eloquently.

"I'm sorry," Risq apologized helplessly. From Obi-Wan's reaction, he had a feeling that Marjhan had employed one of her favorite "breaking in" methods on the slave and he clenched his teeth as he gently tugged off one of Obi-Wan's heavy, buckled boots as Obi-Wan lay on his back, unseeing eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

The sock underneath was saturated with fresh blood. Risq dropped the boot and carefully eased off Obi-Wan's other boot and both of his socks, hissing in disgust as he slowly swiped the blood away with a clean cloth so he could survey the damage.

Marjhan had sliced through the soft skin of Obi-Wan's arches to the more callused skin on the soles of his feet, six horizontal cuts down the length of each foot. It was no wonder he hadn't been able to stand; the fact that he'd made it back to the slave quarters at all amazed Risq. Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, Risq dampened a rag with warm water and warily pressed it to the torn, bloodied skin. The sound of agony that ripped from Obi-Wan's throat then, after so long a silence, almost terrified him, and Risq gently pressed the young man back down to the floor.

"It's okay," he murmured, "I'm sorry, young one, I am. I didn't mean for this to happen." He couldn't bear to look in Obi-Wan's eyes; he knew he would drown in the swirling pools of pain that resided there. So he gently cleaned Obi-Wan's wounds and whispered quiet words to soothe the aching soul, and wondered what in hell he was going to do with his wife.

OOOOOOOOOO

Ouch, ouch, _**ouch.**_

It seemed to Qui-Gon Jinn that each tiny vibration of the ship's engines reverberated through the sleek passenger vessel's guest quarters and centered directly on his bandaged midsection. He was glad in his own way that Mace wasn't here; the "I told you so"s were really more than he felt he could handle at the moment. They were almost there, so he could hold on, but Qui-Gon did have the slightest inking that Mace may have been right about the Jedi Master's ability to make this trip successfully, or at least in a relatively pain-free manner.

But it was worth it, he knew. He _**would**_ find Obi-Wan. The Dark _**would not**_ get him. Qui-Gon didn't know where or even how Obi-Wan had managed to shield himself from the Jedi searching for him, but if it kept the servants of the Dark away from him too, then Qui-Gon was glad for it and more than willing to put in any necessary footwork to find his missing apprentice.

He also had to find Anakin. The Jedi Master planned to visit Shmi's tiny hovel first; he had no idea what he would say to the woman if her son wasn't there – after all, Qui-Gon had been the one to encourage the boy to race in the first place, which had somehow ended with Obi-Wan selling himself and snowballing into this whole unbelievable saga of epic proportions.

The Force sometimes had a bizarre way of accomplishing things.

Qui-Gon stared out his large window at the stars streaking by. Force, had it really been so long since he'd seen his apprentice smile, or teased him about being pursued by some leader's daughter on a diplomatic mission – or been teased in return about a king's overeager queen?

He didn't know how long he stood at the window, his thoughts wandering aimlessly around his mind, but as he stared idly out at the stars, the hyperspace lines suddenly shortened into pinpricks and soon a familiar rust brown planet swam into view.

_Here, Master. Tatooine._

And his apprentice's resigned voice echoed in his head, Qui-Gon wondered if Obi-Wan had known what awaited him all along.

OOOOOOOOOO


	20. on the hunt

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter eighteen: on the hunt

Obi-Wan was looking for an escape route.

Marjhan was looking for a way to get to Obi-Wan.

Delian was scouring Watto's deserted shop for any idea of where to look next.

And Qui-Gon was looking for his old apprentice – and his intended new one.

OOOOOOOOOO

Though in reality it hadn't been very long at all since Qui-Gon Jinn had left the Outer Rim planet Tatooine in a disastrous attempt to deliver the young queen of Naboo to the Senate on Coruscant, it felt to the Jedi Master like a million lightyears had passed since he'd quietly left his apprentice here to await his return. Now, as his worn boots roused small dust clouds in the cheerful sand beneath his feet, and the grinning breeze stirred his grey-flecked hair, Qui-Gon couldn't help but smile himself. It seemed that the Living Force agreed with him – things would soon be set right.

He would find Obi-Wan and Anakin, return them to the Temple, and start training his new Padawan with his former apprentice by his side – newly Knighted, of course; Obi-Wan had wanted to be a Jedi Knight so much his entire life, he wouldn't even consider turning down a chance to take his Trials.

The Jedi Master didn't think he was being overly optimistic. He would find Obi-Wan and he would keep the young man safe from the Dark They could keep him quarantined at the Temple if they had to until the more experienced Jedi took care of this Dark Side menace.

Qui-Gon allowed his spirits to rise a little. Just being here on Tatooine, _**doing**_ something, made finding Obi-Wan and Anakin seem much more attainable. His careful steps soon brought him to the Skywalkers' sand-battered door, and he barely hesitated before pressing the announcer.

His good mood, unfortunately, plummeted to the worn soles of his dusty boots as soon as he saw the distressed look on Shmi Skywalker's face when she opened the door.

When he'd been here before, she'd seemed resignedly optimistic, forced to go along with Qui-Gon's admittedly idealistic plan for freeing Anakin and getting the queen's ship repaired. Now, her dark eyes gleamed angrily as she stared at him, making no effort to disguise the disgust in her once kind eyes.

"Master Jedi," she greeted shortly. "Your apprentice isn't here. I don't know where he is." She backed away from the door, intending to turn away but, startled, Qui-Gon immediately held up a pleading hand.

"Wait, please."

Swayed either by the earnestness in his voice or her inherently gentle nature, Shmi released a long breath and returned her gaze to the anxious man on her doorstep. Qui-Gon continued hurriedly, "I'm so sorry I didn't return earlier. Please allow me to explain."

Shmi looked hard at the Jedi Master, her mind stealing away to the memory of the confused young apprentice, now missing, who had tried to help her son. Who had saved her son's life from the monster that had killed Watto. And who had faithfully walked her son home from Watto's workshop at night, even though Anakin's small feet had trod that path alone many, many times before the Jedi's arrival.

Whose blue eyes, wide and apologetic, had asked for forgiveness for putting her only son in danger, even though at the time it had seemed the only way to get the Nubian queen home. _**That**_ had touched Shmi's weary heart the most.

"Come in, Master Jedi," she said calmly, wondering if he could even hear her hushed words over the loud thudding of her heart in her chest.

"Thank you. First, please, is Anakin home?" Qui-Gon asked quietly, his mood far more subdued than just a moment ago. "I'd like to see him. I need to … apologize."

"He's in his room," Shmi gestured shortly, trying be gracious even though she wanted more than anything to keep this Jedi away from her son. She couldn't bear to see Anakin's own hopes of becoming a Jedi crushed again. "I'll wait for you here."

Qui-Gon appreciated the gesture, though he had no doubt she would be listening just outside the door. He couldn't blame her; after everything that had happened, it was testament to her innate kindness that she'd even let him into her home.

Anakin was lying on his bed listlessly, languidly swishing a model of a starfighter up and down through the air. Qui-Gon cleared his throat lightly, hoping the child could hear him over the excessively loud engine noises and pilot voices he was making. Anakin looked up, his expression brightening and then immediately falling.

"Master Qui-Gon!" He was across the room and into the Jedi Master's arms before Qui-Gon could even caution him to stay in bed. "I'm so glad you're here! Obi-Wan's missing and it's all my fault!"

"Hello, little one," Qui-Gon smiled, carefully maneuvering Anakin's small hands away from his damaged midsection but enveloping the boy's short form in a gentle hug. "Easy, easy, Anakin. I'm afraid much has happened since I went away, none of it pleasant." His smile deepened; he was genuinely pleased to see the boy. "But I am glad to have found you."

"Yeah, I'm glad you're here, too." Anakin shuffled his feet nervously, tripping over the words rushing through his mind and to his mouth. "Delian went to look for Obi-Wan but she said I couldn't come because I had to rest but I really want to help look for him because I'm afraid it's my fault because I was really mad and Obi-Wan tried to stop me but I didn't listen – I was just so mad! And – "

"Hold on, Anakin," Qui-Gon directed, smiling but his stomach churned at the boy's words. What in the Force could have happened in just a few months?

"Do you feel strong enough to come into the kitchen and talk with your mother and me?"

"Of course!" Anakin assured enthusiastically, "I feel like I've been resting for like a _**week**_. I'm ready for some action now!"

"All right," Qui-Gon replied, amused, and settled a guiding hand on Anakin's shoulder to lead him out to the dining table. "Let's see if we can't find our missing Obi-Wan."

OOOOOOOOOO

Unaware that his master was so close, Obi-Wan Kenobi gingerly tapped a finger against his ribcage distractedly, mulling over work yet to do today. He'd quietly recovered from the shock of Marjhan's pitiless abuse, but he knew painfully in his heart that unless a miracle arrived, worse was yet to come. He hadn't screamed when she'd sliced through the soles of his feet; he knew somehow that he had been trained better than that and so he stayed quiet despite the fiery anguish.

And then she had cruelly cut the serving girl as a lesson to him and he'd almost made noise then, but he'd rightly felt it would just encourage Marjhan more. At some point the pain had sunk into his overstimulated mind and when she'd made him walk out, leaving bloody smearing footprints across the floor, each step had become more and more excruciating; as he crossed gritty, burning sand, making his agonized way to the slave quarters he'd thought the helpless, tormented tears streaming from his eyes would blind him.

He had finally made it to the fresher in the slave quarters and collapsed in the shower. Never had he been so grateful for the frigid water pouring over him, dulling his senses and some of the pain, but it hadn't done anything to erase the image of the gleaming knife blade scraping down the girl's wan cheek, and the quiet whimper that had slipped from her clenched lips.

"Obi-Wan?"

The young slave started, nearly dropping the spanner he clenched in a white-knuckled grasp.

"Master!" he stuttered, Marjhan's teasing smirk still plastered in front of his eyes. He shook his head quickly, trying to somehow jerk the image away and started to rise from his kneeling position, but his master waved him off kindly.

Risq watched the other man carefully, concerned. He knew how quickly the slaves went downhill after Marjhan got hold of them, and he was saddened that young Obi-Wan had been chosen by his lovely wife as her new toy. He'd expected much from the slave; now, he bitterly regretted even purchasing him in the first place.

"I'm sorry, Master," Obi-Wan uttered a hasty apology, ducking back over the speeder's open engine casing as his pulse thudded in his ears. "I didn't realize you were there."

"Obi-Wan." Risq put a gentle hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, and was surprised when the slave tensed under his grip. He moved his hand away quickly, but Obi-Wan's wide grey eyes were sad when he turned around.

"Master?"

Suddenly unsure of how to approach the young man, Risq switched his line of approach. "How are your feet, boy?" he asked gruffly. "Any better today? No infection, right?"

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. "No, sir. I mean, it's a little better, Master, thank you." He hesitated, then offered a ghost of a smile. Risq felt himself smile in return, wondering what charisma, what charm, this young man must have possessed before he'd wound up on the selling block; Risq had known when he'd met the boy that he was Obi-Wan's first buyer: the young man was too clean, too unblemished to have been a slave before.

Before his wife had gotten ahold of him.

"I'll keep you on garage work until your feet heal," he murmured awkwardly, giving the young man's broad shoulder another squeeze.

Obi-Wan's head ducked politely. "Thank you, Master. You're very kind."

Risq shook his head honestly. "No, boy, just regretful. I should have never brought you here." He was not a man given to sentiment - his lovely wife had destroyed any wistfulness he may have once felt toward another - but there was something frighteningly different about Marjhan's pursuit of Obi-Wan; he had never seen her so determinedly focused on breaking a slave before. It bothered him, yes, and if he admitted it to himself, made him jealous in the darkest part of his soul. She was, after all, a thing to behold, as skilled in pleasure as she was in pain.

He had decided that the best thing to do was remove the temptation.

"Listen to me carefully, Obi-Wan," he instructed firmly. "Marjhan and I are going away on business in a few days. I'm gonna leave you your transmitter and some credits to have it deactivated. I'll tell Jak so he doesn't try to stop you and I want you gone before we're back, understand? There are some maps in my office you can use to figure out where you're going."

Obi-Wan nodded hesitantly. With a brief flash of a smile, Risq left the garage and the young slave staring wide-eyed after him.

OOOOOOOOOO

Marjhan was biding her time.

A few more days, and Risq would leave again for Mos Eisley. He'd asked her if she wanted to accompany him, and it didn't take a genius to uncover his ulterior motive. Harvest was shortly upon them, and he'd want all his slaves in top condition.

She'd accepted the offer, much to his surprise. Sadly for him, he hadn't considered at all that _**she**_ had an ulterior motive, but if her husband didn't know her better than that by now it was really his own failing.

Marjhan considered herself a self-taught expert at breaking in slaves, and she had already decided that she would need help with Obi-Wan – he was too strong, too hardened by the life he'd lived before this to be affected by her coarse persuasions. Besides, she did want him whole, or at the least functioning, for when she finally had him fully won over to her.

She would find what she needed in Mos Eisley. If they had drugs strong enough to erase a man's memories, she could certainly find something that would only _influence_ him to see things her way.

And that was a beautiful thought.

OOOOOOOOOO

Though in reality it hadn't been very long since Delian Ani-Suru had set foot inside Watto's abandoned junk shop, it felt to the Corellian that lightyears had passed since then. Just a few months ago, the shop, dim and cool, had been so lively: Anakin running back and forth between customers, the frantic hum of Watto's beating wings as he cheated and swindled patrons and friends alike, the constant influx of star pilots stopping in for parts and conversation between ports.

Now, the once-crowded shelves were looted and bare, and a thick sheen of sand from recent storms had settled over everything. Her hand went automatically to her blaster, the smooth feel of the handgrip against her palm solidly reassuring. This place gave her the creeps.

She'd been here a couple of times already, each time hoping she would find some clue to Obi-Wan's whereabouts, and each time crushingly disappointed. She didn't know what she'd expected to find this time, she just didn't know what else to do, where else to look. The Jedi had vanished without a trace.

Delian drew a deep breath and stepped outside into the back lot. There was a tarp off to the side covering Watto's decaying corpse and another one for the creature who had murdered him; no one had bothered to do anything with the shop or its deceased owner.

Delian carefully traced out the scene she had found the day Kenobi had disappeared.

Anakin had been here.

Obi-Wan's lightsaber, here.

The corpse of that … creature, still here.

"What are you doing?"

The voice was harsh, rough, startling Delian from her scrutiny. She spun to face the intruder, her blaster up and aimed right between his eyes. A flash of green passed across her vision and the severed blaster muzzle clattered to the ground, which later would really piss her off but right now actually made her back up a step. Delian caught of glimpse of stern blue eyes and flowing hair, and then her Corelli reflexes kicked in and Obi-Wan's lightsaber sprung to life in her hand, cracking into the emerald blade facing her and sending a shower of sparks at them both.

The emerald blade wavered unsteadily and slipped toward the ground as the man across from her stumbled in weariness. Something told Delian not to harm him – he may be what she'd been intended to find this final time digging around the empty shop.

"I'm looking for someone," she said boldly, taking the initiative as she tossed her short hair out of her eyes. "A Jedi apprentice."

"Jedi?" the man repeated. He was casting his eyes around, and when they settled on a large crate, he slowly moved toward it and lowered himself down painfully to sit upon it. "You're looking for Obi-Wan Kenobi," he ventured, a hint of surprise lighting his bright eyes.

"Yes," Delian admitted, covering her astonishment and trying not to let any gleam of hope cloud her thinking. "You know him?"

The man smiled, and Delian found herself sliding toward a state of relaxed ease around him. He exuded warmth and comfort, like Obi-Wan, but he didn't set Delian's emotions on edge the way Kenobi had. She powered down the lightsaber cautiously.

"Of course I know him. He's my apprentice."

A name she'd heard from the Skywalkers clicked and Delian nodded knowingly. "You're Qui-Gon."

The man's head dipped in easy acknowledgement. "I am."

"I'm Delian," the Corellian introduced herself, feeling for the first time since Kenobi had disappeared that there might actually be a chance at finding her missing mechanic - er, the lost Jedi. "Obi-Wan worked for me for awhile. He mentioned you a few times."

"He worked for you?" Qui-Gon questioned, brow furrowing in confusion. "Force, what did that boy get himself into?"

"'Boy'?" Delian snorted disapprovingly. "I think Obi-Wan might have grown up one day and you missed the ship there, ace."

Far from being offended, Qui-Gon looked amused and also a little rueful. "You may be right about that, Delian. So … do you have any idea how to find him?"

Delian shook her blonde head. "Not a clue. Half a story from Anakin, a couple of dead bodies – "

"A 'couple' of bodies?" Qui-Gon interrupted interestedly, peering around the dim exterior. She couldn't blame him for missing them: 'chaos' was a word that easily described the disaster the looters had left.

"Yeah," she answered grimly. "Watto's, and something else. Horns, tattoos, _**godawful**_ leer." She shuddered at the memory of looking into the creature's wide-open yellow eyes, glaring at her hatefully even in death. She'd thrown up everything in her stomach.

The Jedi Master straightened abruptly and painfully, eagerly alert as his gaze fixed on her. "Red and black tattoos, dressed all in black? Red lightsaber with a blade at each end?"

Delian eyed him suspiciously. "Yeah, though I didn't see his lightsaber. How do you know that?"

"I've met him, and I was the one who lost that time," Qui-Gon smiled darkly, gesturing toward his stomach. "What happened to him?"

"Kenobi killed him," Delian replied simply, displaying the lightsaber clutched in her fist. "With this." She set it gently in Qui-Gon's open palm, but didn't take her own hand from the silver casing – no way in hell she was giving up the only piece of Kenobi she had left.

"Did he?" Qui-Gon's fingers tightened around the slender cylinder in amazement. Delian nodded.

"I'm sure of it. What's left of the body is over there if you want to look at it."

"I may," Qui-Gon replied, "but first I want to focus on what we can do to find him." An unfamiliar sense of frustration welled in his chest; he'd been so sure he'd find something once he arrived, he hadn't even allowed himself to consider the sheer impossibility of even finding Obi-Wan. Now, it settled over him like a leaden weight. Was Obi-Wan still even on the planet? Even if he was, how could they possibly find him? He'd been rash in coming here, he knew, but he'd had to try.

"Well," Delian sighed, dropping onto a crate opposite the Jedi. "The only thing missing was Kenobi – and his transmitter. At first I thought maybe he just ran away, but then I found this," she tapped a short fingernail against Obi-Wan's abandoned lightsaber. "And I don't think he would just leave it behind. I swear when he was with me he even had it on him while he slept."

At Qui-Gon's amused look, she added dryly, "All right, I don't have any proof any of that. So anyway," she added quickly, not at all appreciating the way the Jedi's warm blue eyes teased her – damn it, he was _**so like**_ Obi-Wan it made her want to throw a spanner at him. Kest, she'd love to see the two of them together sometime in action, saving a damsel in distress or whatever. Delian imagined it would be something like one of the swashbuckler vids she'd seen as a kid, all whirling action and snappy dialogue between the master and apprentice as they battled the forces of evil.

She shook away hard the image of Obi-Wan's tightly muscled body moving gracefully in combat; it was distracting her and she had a feeling the Jedi watching her had some idea of where her thoughts were drifting.

"Anyway," she rushed to add, "his transmitter's gone, and I don't think he would have taken that and not his lightsaber. But I don't know what else could have happened," she admitted with a sigh.

Qui-Gon felt a quiet sense of cold dread slowly spread over him. Obi-Wan had disappeared … had he been taken by the Sith, snapped up by the master once Obi-Wan had killed the apprentice? Was he too late?

"No," he whispered. Not Obi-Wan. _**Please,**_ Force, not Obi-Wan.

"I need to meditate," he announced abruptly, forcing the disturbing thoughts from his mind. "To focus."

Delian raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And that's gonna help Kenobi how?"

"The Force will guide us," Qui-Gon said firmly. Delian sniffed in irritation.

"Well, if that's all we've got, we may as well write Kenobi off for good," she tossed off snidely. Qui-Gon regarded her calmly, much the same way Kenobi had when he was somehow amused by her. With Kenobi she could shrug it off; with the Jedi Master's cool blue eyes boring into her, she actually felt a little guilty.

"You don't believe the Force will help us find Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon questioned mildly.

"All I'm saying is look where it got _**him**_," Delian rebuffed, trying to fix an insolent gaze on the Jedi and finding it nearly impossible to do without backing down. She snarled and fiddled with Obi-Wan's lightsaber to look as busy as possible, though she watched surreptitiously as Qui-Gon carefully leveraged himself to the ground in a kneeling position, closing his eyes and settling his large hands loosely in his lap.

_Please help us find him,_ she added silently, despite her misgivings.

_Hey, anything that'll help_, she justified to herself. _You're out a mechanic, after all. _

She sighed quietly and slouched against the tall crate at her back, wondering how in the hell they could possibly find Kenobi. _Damn it_! If only she hadn't given him his transmitter back they could just track …

A thought struck her, something that Shmi had said, and she blurted, "Transmitter!" at the same time Jinn's eyes snapped open and he growled, "Slave traders," in a voice that actually made her shiver. She blinked it off and forged ahead excitedly,

"Kenobi has a transmitter! We can go to the block in Eisley and find out if he's still registered somewhere! He should still have the same one – slavers use 'em to keep track of slaves' ownership history." She could have kicked herself for not thinking of it before – though, to be fair, she'd never had a slave before Kenobi.

Qui-Gon nodded in grim acquiescence. It was a slim hope – if Obi-Wan had been taken off planet, all they might end up with was the name of his buyer. Not a lot of hope in a galaxy of hundreds of planets. "We'll start out at first light."

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Reviews are much appreciated! Thank you!


	21. closing in

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter nineteen: closing in

The slim, ridged cylinder was clenched tightly amid his huge fingers; he knew that the battered casing, well-worn yet strong, wouldn't crumple in his tight-fisted grip, but the slowly healing Jedi Master still felt guilty for abusing the weapon he'd carried for more years than he could count.

He could not, however, bring himself to release his punishing hold: his old lightsaber felt tainted to him now, defiled by the filthy hands of the Sith monstrosity who had attacked both himself and Obi-Wan and killed the queen of Naboo and most of her ship's crew.

The Jedi had found his lightsaber clipped to the Sith's belt after he'd examined the rotting corpse in the corner of the junkyard. Qui-Gon remembered, vaguely, the leering grin of the Sith as he'd pried the saber from the Jedi Master's limp fingers after striking him through amidst the wreckage of the Queen Amidala's vessel. The Sith had promised with a malicious sneer to take care of Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon allowed himself a grim smile that actual subsequent events had transpired quite differently than the Sith had anticipated.

He wondered if this was why the Force had intended for Obi-Wan to remain behind on Tatooine, to deal with the Sith, but if that was the case why then had Obi-Wan disappeared?

It irked the Jedi Master, so imbued with the Living Force, that their best hope of finding his apprentice lay not with him nor with the bond he and his Padawan had formerly shared through the Force, but in a tiny device that had been implanted in Obi-Wan's thigh to mark him as property and keep track of his movements so he couldn't desert his slavemasters.

It was wrong. It had all gone so horribly wrong. But it was the only lead he and Delian had, so they would see where it took them.

The Corellian had returned to the Skywalker's hovel for the night, but Qui-Gon no longer felt at ease there as he once did and had opted to look around Watto's back lot to keep his body busy while his mind raced with plans and possibilities. He knew that he should be resting, meditating, doing something _**Jedi**__-_like, but his mind was simply too busy to concentrate.

So he stared hard at the weapon that had hung at his side for so long, and tried to will it to share the last moments of the Sith with him … to bring to life the slash from Obi-Wan's blade that had sliced off the Sith's arm _here_, and pierced the thickly-muscled midsection _here_.

The lightsaber disappeared into his huge fist as Qui-Gon pushed himself to a standing position. He'd agreed to wait for Delian's return and it chafed at him now; he should have left for Mos Eisley as soon as the idea to track Obi-Wan's transmitter had come to light. He was bound to his word now, however, and every second that slipped away grated on his already-thin nerves and tightened the ache that pulled relentlessly at his wounded belly. Despite the pain – or maybe because of it – Qui-Gon started pacing the small lot, ignoring the voices that said to _rest_, and _heal_, and instead he paced, focusing on his steps and welcoming the pain that seemed to sharpen his mind. Ten steps forward, ten steps back, over and over, until the quiet sigh in Delian's clear alto broke through his concentration.

"You know you're not gonna be any good to him if you keep this up."

Qui-Gon's thin lips tightened. "I'll rest after we find him," he said, a flash of stubbornness creasing his craggy features.

"Yeah, that's fine," Delian retorted, tossing her palm out in a gesture that Qui-Gon wasn't sure whether to take as conciliatory surrender or just 'whatever.' "All the same, I'm gonna drive, okay? I think it's better."

"Well, you know where we're going," Qui-Gon pointed out mildly, a touch of diplomat showing through.

"That too," Delian agreed, "but definitely not that only," she added, just to get the last word in, Qui-Gon was pretty sure.

The Jedi Master smiled thinly. Now that his mindless pacing had halted, exhaustion was flooding his tired limbs and he only wanted to reach Mos Eisley as quickly as possible.

"Of course." He quietly followed the sauntering Corellian to the landspeeder parked outside Watto's, and carefully folded his long body into the narrow passenger seat. Something tickled the edge of his tired mind, and Qui-Gon allowed his mind to focus on the soft whisper. Carefully, he slid his calloused fingers over the edge of the speeder. _Obi-Wan._

A frown drew his eyebrows together. "Obi-Wan was here, in this speeder, wasn't he?"

Delian nodded shortly. "Yep. I … um, 'borrowed' him from Watto for a couple of days for some mechanical work." She smiled, a corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. "He's kind of moody, isn't he?"

Qui-Gon sighed in agreement, but felt some of the tension leach from his soul as he thought about his apprentice. "I've never been able to figure out if it's intentional or not; he's mastered the deadpan expression and I suspect at times he employs it just to irritate me," he added without malice, instead nodding approvingly. "He'll make an excellent negotiator one day."

Delian smiled dreamily, thinking of bright grey eyes and hard muscles. "Mmhmm. He certainly is … skilled."

The Corellian wasn't so far gone in her daydream that she missed the dry, somewhat judgmental look that flitted across the Jedi's expression and she realized that Jinn looked amazingly like Kenobi in that moment, except that Kenobi would have followed through with some smarmy comment whereas Jinn remained silent.

After a few moments, she glanced over and saw that Jinn's eyes had drifted shut and his head was slumped wearily against the backrest.

_We'll find him_, she thought, her gaze going back to the sandy stretch of road. _We have to. We're the good guys, after all._

OOOOOOOOOO

He'd been so close to getting away.

The look of disappointment in his Master's eyes burned into Obi-Wan's memory, and there was no point in explaining that he'd tried to free the girl, Marjhan's slave Jubily, and one of Marjhan's overseers had caught him.

_You should have just run_, his Master shook his head ruefully. _How can someone with no idea who they even __**are**__ have a hero complex, boy? You know she won't let you out of her sight now. _

The welts on Obi-Wan's back burned fiercely in silent testimony to the Lady's disapproval, and from where he stood slumped wearily before her, Marjhan smiled at him and he shivered. It was hard to believe that so much evil could be hidden behind such a simple gesture.

"Do you know what I have here, Obi-Wan?" she asked, waving a small vial playfully before his dull eyes. When he didn't answer, she just _tsk_ed at him, irritated by his continued reticence. "I have," she continued with a dark glare and an added flourish, "the key to _**you**_."

He couldn't help a smile that slipped through his defenses. "In a two-centimeter vial?" Obi-Wan's mouth turned down wryly. "Somehow I thought there was more to me than that. Damn my ego," he added, his tone drier than the scorching desert air.

Marjhan's annoyance fled as easily as it had appeared and she clapped her hands elatedly. "You see?" she said happily. "_**That's**_ the Obi-Wan I want! I'll grant you, it was a poor effort, but I want your _**spirit**_, Obi-Wan – I want that spark about you that's so unusual."

She rose from the plush divan and glided over to him, so close that her light perfume tickled his nose, and she ran one long fingernail across his dirty tunic, through the open front and across his chest. "If you could just give me that part of you, willingly, I'll stop with the drugs and I'll give you this." Marjhan held the vial before his eyes, waiting for his curiosity to overcome him. She wasn't disappointed.

"And this is better how?" he questioned dryly.

"It'll break down the bonds of the suppressors in your mind." She smiled at the flash of interest that coursed through his unwavering blue-grey gaze. "You can see who you are. It'll be so much easier than for you to keep playing hard to get."

_Wouldn't it be easier to take the path of less pain?_

The thought echoed through his mind, but a small part of him whispered that that just wasn't who he was, that he didn't take the easiest way out – that for some reason, he belonged to the Light.

It was true, too, that he was remembering some things on his own as he carefully used his Key – his name, the one thing he'd been able to hide from the droids who had wiped his memory – to unlock small, incomplete parts of his memory. He remembered Delian, had latched onto her name like a lifeline during one of his punishments: solitary confinement for days inside a tiny, cramped box for an infraction he couldn't even recall. There were faces he couldn't put names to and names without faces, all wrapped in a haze determined to keep him out.

But he had a choice now. Marjhan was offering him a choice.

"Don't you want to know, Obi-Wan?" She was all around him, clouding his senses, her voice barely above a whisper. "All I want is a gesture, a token. All I want is for you to come to me freely." The words flowed past his ear on her warm breath, questioning, and offering hope to his battered soul: He would remember. The pain would stop.

He could escape.

The small voice that championed Light urged him to hold firm, cautioned that to give into Marjhan would be to welcome in the Darkness that teased him in his weak, pain-filled moments.

_Don't give in,_ his mind whispered, _you're a child of the Light._

_Well, how am I supposed to know who I am?_ he asked himself irritably. _I can't remember!_ _How do I know that I feel that way? How do I know that I don't choose the easy way? How do I know that I'm not just being foolish in resisting? _

"Come on, Obi-Wan," Marjhan breathed, delighted by the inner battle reflected in his clouded eyes. The strain of weeks of confusion and suffering were showing in thin cracks rapidly spreading across his tanned face. He was so close to breaking … she had nearly won.

"Don't you want to remember, Obi-Wan? It's so easy …"

OOOOOOOOOO

Dark Lords of the Sith didn't very often have what one would call a "bad" day, but on this day Sidious had to admit he was coming pretty damned close. By his reckoning, he was down one trained apprentice, one potential apprentice, one blockade, a group of Trade Federation cowards, and a queen who'd been a perfectly moldable pawn.

Damn Jinn for surviving.

Damn Maul for failing.

Damn Kenobi for not falling to the Dark but also for killing his trained apprentice and then disappearing.

And damn those worthless Nemoidians for refusing to continue the Naboo blockade after the queen had been killed. Fussing that now they looked like the "bad guys"… Sidious snorted disdainfully at their spinelessness.

Maul had blatantly questioned the wisdom of blockading a planet that no one had really noticed or cared about before, but Sidious had told him to be patient – there was a senator there who could easily manipulate the queen and help them attract the attention of the Jedi. The Sith Lord knew full well which team would be sent from the Temple … his mistake, he could see now, was not sending Maul to Naboo prior to Jinn's arrival. Sidious had had no doubt the two Jedi would outsmart the Neimoidians and reach Naboo safely; he had planned, however, for them to be detained on-planet for some time by his legions of battle droids. Hubris had been his error.

Well. There was no point in looking for Kenobi – if the Jedi couldn't find him, Palpatine certainly wasn't going to expend the effort, not while there were other candidates he could be priming in the interim. Dooku, Bilaba, Sifo-dyas … all with excellent potential to make an amusing diversion while he waited for the reappearance of his prize, though Sidious had a feeling that Sifo-dyas' usefulness was drawing to a close…

OOOOOOOOOO

He didn't even bother tracking the days anymore.

All he knew was that his life had been hellish since Marjhan had returned from Mos Eisley with what she announced was a "gift" for him. He'd been right to be concerned, but he'd been too naïve to realize that he should have been terrified instead.

After Obi-Wan's attempt at escape had failed, his Master had given up on trying to save him and Obi-Wan couldn't blame him, really. Marjhan was far too creative, too determined, and too ruthless to be denied for long. And so his Master gave him a sad smile and a brief pat on the shoulder as Obi-Wan limped painfully past him to do his work, and he kept the farm's overseers from working Obi-Wan too harshly – at least, the ones Risq had control over. There were a few that obeyed the Lady of the House, and she made certain that Obi-Wan's body was always too fatigued, his mind too tired, to even try to fight the drugs she'd purchased to use on him. Any method of punishment she could think of, whether he deserved it or no, her overseers were giddily ready to enforce, all for some illicit kernel of appreciation from their Lady.

He tried to quell the feeling that his Master had abandoned him; it seemed to him far too easy to settle into that way of thinking, like he'd spent time there before. But he couldn't remember why he should feel that way, so he pushed it aside and continued to stagger through his daily chores and try against overwhelming odds to avoid the Lady of the House.

At some point, Obi-Wan came to wonder why he bothered anymore. No one knew he was here. No one knew who he **was.** He didn't even know. Wouldn't be better to just stop fighting? If he gave in to Marjhan, she would lose interest in her game and he'd be left alone – she only wanted him because he fought her. His earlier thought came back to chew at him naggingly … _**wouldn't**_ it be so much easier to take the path of less pain?

OOOOOOOOOO

Marjhan clutched her prize tightly, twisting it between her slim fingers, feeling the silky strands slide across her smooth skin. True, it had cost her a large dose of her latest acquisition from Mos Eisley, but in the end it had cost _him_ more, and that made it worth it.

She had visitors, and she was intrigued by that. It was rare that anyone came uncalled-for, especially for her. The few friendships she'd managed to form never seemed to last long; the only one who had stuck by her for any extended period of time was dear Risq, and for that reason she kept him around. Well, and his money. There was always that.

Marjhan settled herself regally on her divan as a mismatched pair of humans were shown into her sitting room by Miral: a tall, hunched man with long, straight hair – good-looking in an extremely masculine way, much like her husband – and a short blonde woman dressed in dirty coveralls. Marjhan didn't invite them to sit; the furniture was far too expensive to allow road dust to sully it, and she also didn't want to give them impression she would tolerate their intrusion for long.

She nodded shortly but didn't speak. The man ignored her rudeness, which irritated her, but as the first words fell from his lips, all of the blood washed from her face and she stared at him numbly as he spoke.

"My name is Qui-Gon Jinn," the man said politely. "I'm here looking for my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi. We've learned that he was sold to your husband to help with your harvest. He's approximately this height - " a quick hand gesture " - with brown hair and blue eyes."

The blonde shot Jinn a disgusted look and interjected swiftly, "Reddish-brown hair, probably pretty shaggy by now, blue eyes, tanned and muscular. Dimpled chin. Long, thin braid he tucks behind his right ear. Core World accent that'll melt you where you stand. Seen him?"

Qui-Gon gave her a look that paled in comparison to the one she'd given him, but it still conveyed his dissatisfaction quite clearly. "I want to purchase him back from you, and I'm quite sure we can negotiate an acceptable arrangement."

Marjhan stiffened, straightening her spine and glaring at Qui-Gon. Give up Obi-Wan? Now? But after the blonde's happily detailed depiction of Obi-Wan, Marjhan would have to admit to having slaves who at least resembled him. She would have to send the pair away.

"I'm sorry," she replied sharply, "we haven't any workers by that name or description. We use mostly droids. Your information must be incorrect."

The blonde woman tossed her head disdainfully. "I doubt it. Each tracking number is unique, and Obi-Wan's was assigned to your services."

"I see." Marjhan settled a cold glare on the blonde, cocking her head slightly as her eyes narrowed. Her fingers twitched restlessly against the object she held, sliding it through her palms and caressing its silken softness for comfort. "Well, I don't deal with the outside workers directly, you understand. It may be that he is indeed here, or perhaps my husband has found him unsuitable for the work required and already sold him on without having the tracking numbers changed."

"That's impossible," the woman interjected, bouncing forward on the balls of her feet, her impatience clearly getting the better of her manners. "If Kenobi had been sold again his transmitter would have had to have been changed to another owner or removed to keep it from imploding and killing him."

"Delian." The tall man dropped a firm hand onto the blonde's shoulder to keep her in check but she shrugged it off – or tried to. Jinn's grip was firm and she finally subsided, glaring daggers at Marjhan as she reclined across from them.

"Again," Marjhan said with small smile, "I don't deal with the slaves directly. My husband is currently away on business, but if you'd like to return in a week and ask him yourself, you're quite welcome to do so." She dipped her chin haughtily, blatantly dismissing them. "Master Jinn, Miss Delian. Good day."

With a final glare, the blonde turned sharply on her heel and stalked out, and Marjhan's senses, heightened by panic she struggled to keep hidden from her visitors, just caught her saying,

" … no, we don't have to wait a week. We can go back and get his location pinpointed as long as his transmitter's still active."

And Marjhan realized that something would have to be done very quickly with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

OOOOOOOOOO

Delian continued her protest as they drove back to Mos Eisley but Qui-Gon barely heard her. He was missing something, he knew it. They were so close to finding Obi-Wan, if he could just wrap his mind around the missing piece.

Marjhan had been a mystery he'd been unable to sense anything from. She could have been telling the truth or lying; either way, she projected nothing. She was a frustratingly blank datapad.

Delian fussed all through the midday meal she herself had insisted they stop for, having had nothing to eat since the previous night. Next, they would return to the trader's office to have Obi-Wan's exact location tracked down, an option they'd originally turned down because of the exorbitant expense involved, and they hadn't foreseen a problem confronting Obi-Wan's identified owners. Now, they didn't know what else to do, and Qui-Gon was tired, detached, and not as in touch with the Force as he desired, and he knew it was corrupting his focus.

He continued to think about Marjhan as Delian prodded him toward the trader's office, fighting for the connection he was overlooking.

And then he knew:

It wasn't anything Marjhan had said.

It was the long, thin braid of ginger hair she'd been twisting through her fingers.

OOOOOOOOOO


	22. broken halleluiah

A/N: This story has the _**best**_ reviewers! Thank you so much! It's because of you this story is finally being completed; your kindness in taking time to leave an honest review is so encouraging. I posted a chapter for a That 70's Show fic I've been working at and got 333 hits but only _**one**_ review … that is so discouraging I don't want to even work on that fic anymore. Yes, writing is a labor of love, but authors wouldn't post their work if they didn't want to know what readers thought. So, please, if you can, take just a minute at the end of this chapter to leave a review. Please? We've got more chapters to go, but I'd love to know what returning and new readers think of this ridiculously old story. :D

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty: broken halleluiah

oooooooooo

_I've heard there was a secret chordthat David played, and it pleased the Lordbut you don't really care for music, do you?It goes like this: the fourth, the fifththe minor fall, the major liftThe baffled king composing Hallelujah…_

oooooooooo

She was short on time, and she knew it. She had one last chance to secure him as hers, and she didn't hesitate as she gripped the vibroshiv firmly in her small hand. She had slipped and called the Jedi intruder "Master Jinn" – he hadn't caught it at the time, and maybe he wouldn't even remember it, but Marjhan wasn't into taking chances and she had no intention of giving up the desirable young Jedi that had been thrust into her life.

The revelation that young Obi-Wan was a Jedi didn't surprise her at all; in fact she probably should have known it from the start. Though his mind had been sanitized before her husband had purchased Obi-Wan, the new slave had shown an inexplicable amount of control throughout his time working on their moisture farm. It would also explain why he hadn't broken yet, and why – even though he couldn't remember being a Jedi – he had chosen the path that fairly screamed Light and continued to deny Marjhan success in her ultimate goal: to have the exquisite young slave submit to her willingly, to bend his knee to her, to answer, lovingly, her every desire.

Now, she approached the room designated solely for Obi-Wan, at the end of a long hall and tucked away in the slave's punishment quarters. Her weak husband considered a few days' solitary confinement reprimand enough for all but the most serious offenses, but Marjhan had adapted her own punishments for disobedient playthings unfortunate enough to get on her bad side, and had a room designed that suited most of her needs quite nicely.

Marjhan clutched a small vial in the other hand, one she knew that Obi-Wan wanted desperately but had yet to give in to her to attain it.

So far he hadn't been very good at making the correct choice when options were offered, but she didn't have time to wait anymore so that game, sadly, had to come to an end. But that didn't mean she couldn't start a _**new**_ game, and this one would be much more fun than the old one…

oooooooooo

_Your faith was strong but you needed proofYou saw her bathing on the roofHer beauty in the moonlight overthrew youShe tied you to a kitchen chairShe broke your throne, she cut your hairAnd from your lips she drew their hallelujah…_

oooooooooo

"What are you doing? Seriously. It's kind of embarrassing."

Delian Ani-Suru shifted irritably on the balls of her feet, craning to see around the tall Jedi Master who had inexplicably stopped in the middle of the street and now stood unmoving, eyes closed, sharp features narrowed into a look of intense concentration. Delian tugged on his strong arm insistently, willing him to move out of the way of the steady stream of traffic and the very present risk of losing life or limb to continually passing vehicles and creatures.

"Come _**on**_, Qui-Gon," she urged, anxious to keep moving. "We have to get back to track Obi-Wan's transmitter. Also, we're running a serious risk of getting run over just dozing in the midst of traffic, here. Kest!" The Corellian tossed her blonde curls in frustration. Jinn's apprentice, Obi-Wan, had also frustrated her, but in a completely different and not unpleasant way that she was missing and appreciating more and more as she spent further time with Qui-Gon. "Move, damn it!"

Qui-Gon Jinn's tired midnight eyes softened with just a tiny hint of amusement as he regarded the woman pulling him toward the side of street. "You need to learn patience, Delian," he chided softly, and the pilot snorted in reply.

"Yeah, well, you need to learn some basic safety rules," she retorted, "like not ending up as a very large and bulky Jedi hood ornament on a landspeeder. Now," she continued dryly, "what's the holdup?"

"The woman we just left, the lady of the house," Qui-Gon began, eyes closing again as he pulled a picture from his memory of long raven hair, ruby lips, cold eyes, and …

"Marjhan," Delian supplied with a small shiver. "Creepy bitch."

"She had … had … " his words ground to a halt in his suddenly tight throat, unable to break past the image of her hands twisting long strands of interwoven ginger hair, small colored bands binding the thin braid together peeking through her bejeweled fingers; red and yellow, signifying years of training and dedication …

Delian stilled, picking up on the aching solemnity in the Jedi Master's trembling words. "Had what?" she asked sharply. "Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon shook his head, long mahogany strands brushing softly against his broad shoulders. He couldn't bring himself to say anything other than, "She has Obi-Wan, I'm sure of it. We have to go back."

"You're sure she was lying about him not being there? Absolutely sure?" Delian pressed anxiously. "We can't keep wasting time – I think we should go get him tracked so we know for sure he's there."

"If you want to, that's fine," Qui-Gon tossed over his shoulder, already hurrying back toward their speeder. "I'm not leaving Obi-Wan there any longer than necessary. I would appreciate your help, but if you feel you're better serving Obi-Wan by delaying here – "

"All right, all right," Delian grumbled, annoyed but intrigued by the Jedi Master's unexpected insistence. "I'm coming. _**And**_ I'm driving."

Qui-Gon flashed her a tired smile. "Excellent. I need to focus to locate Obi-Wan."

The Corellian shook her head, but Kest she missed Kenobi, so if following the hunch of a wounded Jedi Master was what it took to bring him back, she was in.

oooooooooo

_Maybe I've been here beforeI know this room, I've walked this floorI used to live alone before I knew youI've seen your flag on the marble archlove is not a victory marchIt's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah…_

oooooooooo

The young slave was curled wearily in the farthest corner from the door when Marjhan entered the room, and he anxiously pressed even further into the cold permacrete walls when he caught sight of the two hulking overseers following their mistress closely. The Lady smiled a little at Obi-Wan's obvious fear of the overseers: they had not been gentle on the slave, and his alarm at seeing them permeated the air, almost physically visible in its potency.

Marjhan's heart beat faster as she regarded Obi-Wan lovingly. Gods, he was so beautiful, so delicious, and when he was afraid or in pain it only made him more so. She almost gave in to the overwhelming temptation to send the overseers away - or not; why not punish them, too, making them look but not touch? - and take the Jedi right then, but the rational part of her mind told her she had work to do, quickly.

She touched his cheek gently, stroking over the purplish-black bruise that stretched across his left eye and cheekbone, reveling in the pained hiss that forced its way past his pale, cracked lips.

Without a word, Marjhan gestured to the overseers and they pushed past her carefully, each grasping one of the slave's muscular arms and dragging his unresisting body from the corner to the middle of the back wall. They pressed the shuddering Jedi's back to the clammy stone and stretched his arms over his head, binding them with rope to a hook set deep in the wall.

Obi-Wan watched in confusion, willing the tremors from their proximity to subside, wincing at the strain of his bindings but he realized that if he were to stand, his arms would be almost level with his waist. _Unusual,_ he realized, but didn't give it much more thought as the overseers moved away - thankfully, Obi-Wan reflected, backing up enough to take the wretched smell of their unwashed bodies to where it didn't seem like it was soaking into his pores and leaving tiny deposits of scummy nastiness behind.

_Okay, that's just disgusting, Kenobi,_ he frowned to himself, before his attention was drawn back to Marjhan by the very effective tactic of her hand striking his cheek in a fierce open-handed slap that snapped his head to the left side and grazed the angry bruising there against the cold stone wall, setting off tiny stings of fire under his skin.

"We need to talk, Obi-Wan," she said firmly, pacing quickly as she spoke, her long dark hair swinging gently behind her. She was twisting his braid in her hands again, a habit he'd noticed she'd adapted since she'd first shorn it off. He couldn't remember why he'd had it, or what the significance of it was, but still his heart keened achingly at the loss of something else that had been _his._

"Someone is looking for you, they've tracked your transmitter here. Clearly, this is unacceptable, and we need to remove the chance they might use your transmitter to locate you."

"Wait, who's looking for me – ?" Obi-Wan interjected, feeling, for the first time in what seemed like a very long time, faint stirrings of hope that this torment under Marjhan's hands might not actually continue until death mercifully released him from her coldly tyrannical grip.

Marjhan eyed him grimly, and he could see she was debating whether or not to tell him. "Please," he added, putting all of himself he could muster into the entreaty, his voice deepening to dulcet, smiling warmly at her, eyes grateful and he knew he was treading on dangerous ground but he had to know who was searching for him. The Lady's eyes smiled in lustful appreciation at his efforts and she settled herself lightly beside him, curling over his shoulder.

"Do you see, my love," she purred, laying a head on his shoulder and stroking his bicep gently, "how easy it is to give me what I want? It's all I'm asking." She straightened, coming to a decision in her mind. "I'll tell you since you're playing so nice, but then you have to make a choice, understand?" He nodded wearily, the light in his eyes dimming, and she continued, "A woman named Delian, and your Jedi Master are looking for you."

Despite his joy at hearing Delian's name, Obi-Wan's face crumpled in confusion. "My … Jedi Master?" he asked hesitantly, a vague memory rumbling through his mind of an Order of negotiators … peacekeepers … warriors. "That can't be right … I'm not a Jedi … "

Confused blue-grey eyes settled on Marjhan, begging to know the truth, and she smiled slowly, beautifully, knowing that he was so, so close to coming to her. She held the vial up for the slave to see, thrilling as his hurting gaze latched onto it warily, but with a glimmer of curiosity he hadn't displayed before.

"How about we find out together, Obi-Wan?" she pressed gently. "You know what I want in exchange. Now, here is your choice: tonight, you can accept this," she gestured with the vial, "and come to me, or … " she paused as she felt him stiffen under her hand and his eyes darted to the overseers as his breath quickened. A very thorough working-over by the overseers was usually his other option to choosing Marjhan, and the only path he'd willingly taken so far, but Marjhan shook her head slyly, crimson lips twisting into a mock-pout.

"No," she interrupted herself, "not them. Not this time." Tension still radiated from the slave and he turned his gaze back to meet her cold stare.

She smiled at him. "I let you watch me have Delian and Jinn killed when they come back looking for you."

Marjhan rose to her feet, enjoying the way his tanned skin whitened as blood slowly drained from his face, shocked horror leaving him speechless. Again she almost took him right then and there – gods, he was irresistible, especially now! – but she steeled herself to be patient: she had work to do, and she was fairly certain he would come to her himself before the day had passed.

OOOOOOOOOO

He hurt. Every centimeter ached and groaned at the abuse he'd been putting his slowly-healing body through of late, but Qui-Gon Jinn ignored the complaints that echoed in his mind – a down side, at times, to being so attuned to the Living Force – and focused instead on the Unifying Force, his Padawan's strong suit. He was certain that Obi-Wan's strength in this area would enable a re-forming of their severed training bond, if only Qui-Gon could match his apprentice's skill and find his lost one.

He could feel the wind whipping his hair across his face as Delian sped recklessly back toward the moisture farm they'd left dejectedly earlier that day, but the Jedi Master kept his eyes closed, focusing on a part of the Force that had always eluded his attempts at understanding. It was one of his and Obi-Wan's greatest strengths – as well as frustrations – that each of them was naturally attuned to a different aspect of the Light, and had led to many resolutions and also conflicts between them.

Now however, Qui-Gon carefully and lovingly set aside the Living Force to search for his missing Padawan somewhere in the Unifying Force.

He felt oddly naked without the calming influence of the Living Force, and his nerves, already raw from his being in constant pain for weeks, frayed a little more. He ignored it, though, ignored the Living Force's somber and desperate warning that he needed to clear his mind and refocus, and kept looking, looking … searching … for the bright soul he'd left here several months before to pay their debts.

Qui-Gon's search grew increasingly desperate … he had to find him … had to find the one he'd abandoned, left to be sold off as a slave under the harsh and unforgiving suns of Anakin Skywalker's homeworld … had to find him before something horrible happened … if it hadn't already …

OOOOOOOOOO

Marjhan dropped Obi-Wan's bloody transmitter chip into Miral's hands, ignoring the houseslave's shudder of revulsion at the grotesque gift.

"Clean this up," she ordered, wiping her stained hands on her bodice. A pointed look at her personal servant Jubily sent the pale, silent girl off to prepare a bath and select clean clothing for her blood-spattered mistress, and Marjhan redirected her attention to Miral.

"If Jinn or the woman come back looking for Obi-Wan," Marjhan continued softly, "under no circumstances will I see them, but give them this chip and my regrets." She smiled. "And tell them the slave it belonged to is dead."

Miral nodded obediently, disappearing quickly with the chip, and Marjhan took a deep breath, twisting an empty vial between her fingers and reveling in the moments that would lead up to the final, successful culmination of so much work.

By day's end, Obi-Wan Kenobi would be broken.

oooooooooo

… _all I ever learned from loveWas how to shoot at someone who outdrew youIt's not a cry you can hear at nightIt's not somebody who's seen the lightIt's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah…_

(_halleluiah _belongs to Rufus Wainwright, or the other guy whose name I can never remember {so sorry, other guy}.)

oooooooooo


	23. breaking down

**Please review! **Whether you've read a multi-chapter story in one hit and leave a review at the end, or review at the end of each chapter, it's helpful to the writer not just in giving encouragement, but if you have a minute to leave a constructive review, it helps the writer to become better at what they do.

Alright, let's see what happens to poor, beleagured Obi-Wan. I'd like to point out, on a **COMPLETELY UNRELATED** note, that I do seem to have a habit of killing the poor Padawan off, and his situation isn't looking very good. And, let's face it, reviews are like lifeblood to keep a story going, and may even help swing the fate of a character... lol... I'm just saying …

OOOOOOOOOO

A/N: Thank you, _thank you_ for the reviews and the general agreement of other authors that the ratio of reviews to number of hits a story receives is definitely depressing. Please make an author's day by leaving a comment about their work if you enjoyed it even a little – it goes a long way towards lifting an author's spirits and maybe even shaking the Muse's juju loose. :D

Also, **I had originally rated this fic "R" for reasons that may already or are about to become obvious, **but after seeing what classifies as "M"-rated material on this site and others I'm not sure that the rewrite is strong enough to warrant that rating. I have decided to leave it as "T" but if there is a valid objection to this, please let me know and the rating will be changed as necessary**.** Thank you!

Hopefully will not lose too many readers after this chap... well, not losing **any** readers would be preferable, but we'll see. *fingers crossed*

OOOOOOOOOO

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty-one: breaking down

They were slowly making their way through a small settlement, Delian shouting and swearing at a bedraggled cluster of Jawas that scurried in front of their landspeeder as it trundled through the busy street. Qui-Gon knew they were still a quarter day's trip from the moisture farm they had left earlier, and he worried as the suns dipped lower in the sky that they wouldn't make it before dusk and what then? Travel an unfamiliar, unsafe desert at night?

His muscles were tense, his wound paining him desperately, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness he'd encountered in the Force while searching for his missing Padawan. He should have been able to sense _**something**_ if Obi-Wan was still alive, but no glimmer of his lost one sparkled in the darkness and his hope, one of his greatest assets, was slowly fading. He wondered even now that if they did make it back to the farm, would he find his Padawan when there was nothing to indicate that Obi-Wan even still lived? The image of Marjhan twisting Obi-Wan's shorn braid in her fingers burned across his mind, and he swore that if nothing else he would retrieve even that small reminder of Obi-Wan. It was the least he could do.

He wished he'd been able to tell Obi-Wan how proud he was of the young warrior who had slain the Sith when Qui-Gon himself had failed. There were still many, many things that needed to be said between them …

_Stop thinking about him like he's gone. You don't know that,_ Qui-Gon ordered himself firmly. He'd been so eager, so ready to return to the moisture farm, but hours of fruitless searching in the Force for his Padawan had further grievously worn down his tired mind and body, and discouragement was slowly settling in.

Qui-Gon's comlink chirped, its tinny, innocuous sound grating across his hyper-tense nerves with the force of a hundred screaming Mynocks or one Jar Jar Binks. The Jedi Master's natural instinct was to ignore it, but he knew that in all probability it was a communication from the Jedi Council relayed through his ship's long-range com that he was required to answer. Perhaps it was news of Obi-Wan, or the Council may have reached a decision regarding the request Qui-Gon had submitted before he'd departed for Tatooine a second time: permission to have Anakin brought to Coruscant to be trained in the ways of the Force.

He motioned for Delian to pull over and she frowned at him in irritated impatience, nervously twisting a blonde curl between her fingers as she did as he requested, frustration vibrating in her every move and grating across even his small awareness of the Living Force.

Hesitantly Qui-Gon scaled back his access to the Force a little more, and Delian's agitated Signature faded from his mind.

"This is Qui-Gon Jinn," he answered into the comlink, trying to sound as calm as possible. His continued voluntary dampening of the Living Force was making it more difficult for him also to reign in his impatience, but he told himself as soon as this was over, _**as soon**_ as he had Obi-Wan back, he would meditate, he would rest, he would heal, and all would be well.

But he had work to do first.

"Qui-Gon, it's Mace."

The informality of the other Jedi's address immediately alerted Qui-Gon that this was a personal call, and even with his inhibited use of the more sensitive side of the Light, he was able to ascertain that the Council member was highly troubled.

"What is it, old friend?" he asked gently, sliding a look toward Delian Ani-Suru, sitting next to him in the landspeeder, fiddling with the steering grips and trying very hard to look innocent and completely uninterested in his conversation while somehow still urging him to hurry it the hell up.

His lips twitched. "Should this be a private conversation?" he asked politely, ignoring the offended look the fidgeting Corellian sent his way and focusing instead on trying to will the Council member to have concrete news about Obi-Wan's location.

"I think that would be best, Qui-Gon," Mace said gravely, and with a sigh, Qui-Gon slid from the landspeeder and moved a few paces away. Delian continued to frown and tapped her wrist chrono meaningfully, eager to be on their way. Qui-Gon nodded in agreement, but turned his back to the Corellian to concentrate on Mace's hushed tones.

"Go ahead," Qui-Gon prompted, wishing Mace would _**hurry**_; he blamed this on Delian's obvious eagerness to move, but he also knew in his heart he was anxious to find his lost apprentice. "I don't have much time, Mace."

"Make time," Windu said shortly, sounding small but forceful over the tiny speaker. Qui-Gon blinked but said nothing, waiting for the other man to continue, and after a moment, Mace did so. "What's going on, Qui-Gon? I can feel your agitation from Coruscant … you're fading from the Living Force, my friend, and you need to be cautious."

Qui-Gon easily shrugged off the Council member's concern. "Not at all; I'm merely tired, and still recovering, obviously – "

"That's not it. You're getting too emotional," Mace countered evenly. "You're losing your focus – "

"Is there a point to this call, Mace?" Qui-Gon interjected irritably, his testiness increasing further when he realized he was underscoring Windu's point by letting his frustration cloud his patience. He breathed slowly through nose, trying to encourage the Force bleed through him and soothe his frayed nerves. "We're very close to finding Obi-Wan, I was just about to follow another lead… "

"I'm afraid that will have to wait."

The Jedi Master wasn't certain he'd heard correctly. "I'm sorry?"

"Qui-Gon," Mace's voice was firm, low and unyielding though his old friend knew the frustration that was barely hidden by the Council Member. Instantly the tone of the conversation clicked from personal to professional. "We have other, more pressing issues to deal with right now." The Jedi's voice dropped to a murmur that Qui-Gon himself could barely hear. "We've lost track of Sifo-Dyas on Rylon. We need every available Jedi to start searching for him before something terrible happens."

The calm Qui-Gon had been seeking crunched and splintered at the Council member's words, grinding to shards that bit painfully into his chest. Master Sifo-Dyas, lost?

The significance of the correlation between the Sith's death on Tatooine and the subsequent disappearance of Sifo-Dyas was too evident to ignore, and Qui-Gon's strong fingers tightened on the tiny comlink as the implications tumbled over each other to reach the forefront of his mind:

A Sith had been slain here on Tatooine by Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Sifo-Dyas was missing.

And Sith lore proclaimed that there must always be two: an apprentice and a master.

The tightening in his chest increased until his still-healing wound pulsed in agony, the new skin stretching and straining, but Qui-Gon ignored it, his mind churning to make an agonized decision. Sifo-Dyas had once been a friend of his, a fellow Padawan many, many years ago. Was his old friend even now being pulled to the Dark Side?

Loyalty to his friend and the directives of his Order versus locating his Padawan warred deep within the Jedi Master. If Mace was correct, Qui-Gon was certainly the best and quickest choice to locate Master Sifo-Dyas, but …

"_**Every**_ available Jedi would include Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon pointed out heatedly, trying to control his sudden, irrational anger at the Force for thrusting this appalling choice upon him. He was so near to finding Obi-Wan … wasn't he? Even though he couldn't sense the young man anywhere? His mind refused to accept the horrific possibility that Obi-Wan could be dead, but if not, why couldn't he find him?

"Qui-Gon, there _**is no time. **_You are the closest Jedi to Rylon – you must track down Sifo-Dyas. It could be days before anyone else could get there." Mace paused, and his voice was grave when he resumed speaking. "I _**will**_ make this an order if I have to."

Qui-Gon sighed, misery constricting his every breath. "That won't be necessary," he answered stiffly, making quickly what he prayed was the right decision, agonizing in his heart that he could be wrong.

Mace took the small victory Qui-Gon had relinquished, and even threw his old friend a bone as a reward for his somewhat unexpected compliance. "Excellent. The Council has agreed that you may bring Anakin Skywalker to Coruscant to be tested. With the possibility of a Sith threat, we need to keep anyone with any Force abilities accounted for."

"Except Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon interjected bitterly with a sigh, but he cut off any related comment from himself or the Council member by adding, "I will need to return to Mos Espa briefly for the boy, Anakin; he will accompany me to Rylon, and my vessel is anchored in the outskirts there."

"See that no harm comes to the child and make haste to Rylon," Mace instructed. A short pause, then: "I'm sorry about Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon shook his head, though the Council member couldn't see it. "I will find him, Mace."

The Jedi snapped off the comlink; the instant he lowered the small device from his lips Delian waved frantically from the landspeeder, practically bouncing in her seat as she waited eagerly for his return.

"Come _**on,**_" she urged, already revving the engine, her eyes bright with excitement at the renewed hunt. "Let's go!"

_Force, give me strength,_ Qui-Gon murmured, though he didn't expect or wait for an answer. "I need you to take me back to Mos Espa," he requested stiffly. "I've been given another assignment."

Delian stared at him in confusion, eyes narrowing. "You're kidding, right?" she scoffed, shaking her head as she supplied what she was certain the Jedi's answer must be. Of course he wasn't serious. "Quit joking around and get your ass in the speeder, we've got to go!"

"Delian," Qui-Gon said sternly, trying to impart as much conviction as he could into his voice. "I'm serious. I need to return to Mos Espa to retrieve Anakin, and I will be back as soon as I'm able to continue searching for Obi-Wan." His tone softened, and sadness flickered in his eyes. "Obi-Wan is strong, he'll be all right. I have no choice." As he spoke Qui-Gon watched a shield slam down over the Corellian's visage, and something dangerously close to hatred burned in her auburn eyes.

"I can't believe you would abandon him now, when we're so close! What if he's in trouble? What kind of Master are you?" she protested angrily.

"Obi-Wan is well-trained in the Force," Qui-Gon murmured, hoping he sounded calm because he certainly wasn't feeling it. "He is a strong warrior – " _if he's even still alive,_ that betraying voice whispered – "and he would make the same decision were he in my place."

"I doubt that!" Delian shot back spitefully. "The reason he ended up in this mess was because he left the Games to save Anakin! What do you have to do that's more important than finding Obi-Wan?" she challenged, gaze burning into him.

"I have to do the same as Obi-Wan would do," Qui-Gon reiterated softly, the pounding in his head so loud now he could barely focus on the Corellian. Everything _**hurt**_, every thought in his mind cried that this was wrong, that he needed to find Obi-Wan. "It is our duty to defend the helpless," he struggled to add calmly. "That's what Obi-Wan did by going back for Anakin."

Delian shook her head. "Well, I hope Obi-Wan understands," she spat, angry tears glittering in her eyes as her voice wavered. "I'm still going after him, Master Jinn," the pilot snapped. "Find your own way back!"

OOOOOOOOOO

Obi-Wan Kenobi sat listlessly on the chilled permacrete floor in "his" room, the one the Lady had designated specifically for his punishments where he could dwell in his misery and agony without anyone but Marjhan or her overseers ever hearing him, or knowing he was there.

Memories flickered relentlessly across his vision and he docilely allowed it – there wasn't much he could do about them, considering the drugs Marjhan had flooded his system with left him without even the energy to lift his head from his chest, nor could he move to ease the strain on his arms still bound high above him.

Moreover, there was the small matter of the gaping hole in his thigh where Marjhan had cruelly dug his slave transmitter out with a vibroshiv.

He also thought, despairingly, that even if he'd had the energy to move, the images that were currently assaulting his mind would have robbed him of that ability. The sheer cruelty of experiencing at once all of the memories that had been blocked by the slave trader's suppressors was driving him into the ground with a force that Marjhan's drugs or punishments couldn't even begin to replicate.

Obi-Wan supposed wryly that he may yet unintentionally escape this horror by bleeding to death on the floor, alone and forgotten; a fitting end for the young man who would never be a Jedi… who didn't _**deserve**_ to be a Jedi.

Distressed blue-grey eyes drifted across the floor, reflecting, remembering, reliving numbing joy, infinite sadness, and stinging failure that reminded him how he'd been led to this point, how he'd been driven to his knees, how he'd never again be free of the taint Marjhan had left on his body and his soul, if he even lived long enough to remember.

He had been sold, used, beaten, burned, starved, and worse.

He had failed the queen and Anakin. Anakin had died because he wasn't fast enough to save him, hadn't seen but should have known somehow that the boy would try to attack the Sith warrior.

He had failed his Master horribly; Anakin, the queen, her crew and handmaidens, Watto: all dead because he had failed. Marjhan had said Qui-Gon came for him, but as more memories overwhelmed him, a single, striking pain broke through, driving into his chest and he remembered, vividly, the image of a glowing red blade sliding through his belly, blazing fiery agony into every nerve, screaming, screaming, begging for the anguish to end … and he knew there was no possibility Qui-Gon could have survived that …

A sick thought occurred to Obi-Wan, that Marjhan even now was toying with him, manipulating him into choosing her over death for companions that were already dead, had possibly died months ago. But how would she have known about Qui-Gon and Delian? And would they really have come all this way just to leave him here to die?

It was a confusing jumble of thoughts and memories, and Obi-Wan hurt so very much, and he was so very tired. The first of his unwanted tears slid across his dirty cheek, cutting a silvery trail through the days-old grime encrusted there, and Obi-Wan searched through his grief for something, anything to latch onto, surprised suddenly when he encountered a small, warm tendril of Light buried deep within him. He'd been without the Force for so long he'd almost forgotten what it was like to have its warmth intertwined with his being, but here it was, waiting, calling, reminding him where he belonged …

Obi-Wan focused hard on the threads that were just within his reach; he was crying harder now as he fought the restrictive bands lashed across his mind and soul but he ignored his sadness, searching only for more of the Light.

Finally, after fighting through several layers of suppressors, he felt the gentle touch of the Force, bleeding through the cracks in his unwanted defenses, caressing and nurturing his wounded spirit as It calmed his tears and soothed his mind. Obi-Wan concentrated rigidly on the tiny Force threads, nearly sobbing again, this time in joy, at its forgotten beauty and the peace it brought him.

He was so lost in his elated thoughts that he never heard the heavy door grate across the sand-scattered permacrete flooring as it swung open…

OOOOOOOOOO

"Damn it!" Delian swore contemptuously. "Who the hell does he think he is anyway? Damn high and mighty Jedi!" She wasn't sure if she was referring to Qui-Gon Jinn or Obi-Wan Kenobi, but as she continued on – alone – toward the moisture farm far on the outskirts of this town, she certainly knew who her anger was directed at …

OOOOOOOOOO

Less than halfway back to Mos Espa in his rented speeder, Qui-Gon Jinn had a moment of clarity.

_What the hell am I doing?_

Without a further thought of the Council, Sifo-Dyas, or even young Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon angled the speeder back toward a certain sprawling moisture farm …

OOOOOOOOOO

... he was so lost in his elated thoughts that he never heard the heavy door grate across the sand-scattered permacrete flooring as it swung open, but the voice that slithered through his nightmares and haunted his waking moments could not be missed.

"What brings you such joy, my pet, apart from an evening spent in my presence?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi's eyes snapped open in horror, his tenuous hold on the Force sliding out of his frantically grasping mind.

"M-my Lady," he stammered automatically, murmuring obediently the words he had been trained to say through many long, painful lessons. Marjhan stooped before him, taking his chin in one hand and eyeing him speculatively. He dimly recognized the predatory gleam in her eyes and his mind revolted, immediately understanding why she had come; his body involuntarily scrabbled backward as much as his bindings and the wall behind him would allow.

His sudden movement knocked Marjhan off balance, sending her into the dirt and sand on the floor with a surprised shriek but she recovered easily, rolling quickly to her feet while glaring at the young man on the floor.

"Damn you!" she spat. Lust and hatred warred in her eyes, twisting her cold features into a demonic caricature of the beautiful woman he'd first laid eyes upon months ago; he saw the retaliatory slap aimed for his face and jerked to the side, enraging the furious woman even further. Vehemently she dug her long fingernails into his bony shoulders, slamming the weakened Jedi against the stone wall again and again as she sank all her weight on the gouge in his thigh she herself had left there earlier while removing his transmitter chip.

Obi-Wan screamed raggedly, his raspy, little-used voice only managing a hoarse cry that barely forced its way from his throat. Instincts ingrained in him over the last several weeks took over, and the newly-rediscovered whisper of the Force faltered as the barely-remembered Jedi in him fell and the terrified young man reemerged, deserted and broken, wanting only to escape the pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry… sorry," he whispered pleadingly, over and over, trying to huddle in on himself and away from the nearness of her. Bleeding welts had reopened across his tanned, shredded back and red fire lazily seeped into his tunic, leaving garish stains on the pale material. "I'm so sorry, Lady, sorry…"

"Damn right you are!" she snapped, shifting her weight on his leg, pressing down until he cried again hoarsely, heaving against his bindings. His left wrist, slicked with bright blood from scraping against the rough ropes, slipped free as he struggled and he used this hand to bat her aside feebly. She caught his arm easily and moved again until she was straddling his hips, pinning the moaning Jedi against the wall.

Marjhan made the mistake, then, of looking at her prize, and felt some of her anger drain away.

"So, so beautiful," she murmured, her ire fading as easily as it had arisen as she raked her fingernails across his battered face and against the short hair above his right ear. "I miss this," she whispered to him, "it was so _**distinctive**_, my little one, like a leash for my own little pet." Her gaze shifted, greedily predatory again, and Obi-Wan's stomach lurched at the unbridled hunger in her gaze. He tried to tell himself he had made this choice, _**he**_ had chosen this to save two people who may not even be alive to appreciate his selflessness, but Force, this was so wrong, _so wrong_, and if there was _anything_ that could save him from Marjhan, could it please deliver him swiftly from this unrelenting torment …

"My own pet…" Marjhan repeated delightedly, huskily, pleased with the way his terror made his striking eyes so wide. She lowered her mouth to his shaking lips, silencing the pitiful pleading and stammering apologies still spilling from them, ignoring the way he shuddered under her and delightedly enjoying the unique taste of him.

He had been strong once, and proud, but she had worked hard and was almost ready to enjoy her reward. He would need a reminder later never to lash out at her, but for now she would take from him enough to satisfy her until he came to her willingly tonight when there would be a far better and more deserving setting, far more regal accoutrements as befitted her pleasures, and her young slave would be cleaned and prepared.

For now, though, she ignored the dirt, ignored his pained gasps; completely disregarded his sobbing, shuddering breaths and instead buried her fingers in his thick copper hair, taking what she wanted, what she deserved.

Obi-Wan was screaming silently; crying, begging, for the Force, for Marjhan's drugs, for death. Anything that would dull the fire in his mind and body.

Before his capacity for coherent thought dissolved into nothingness, there was one last message for the one who had left him here to die, whether the Jedi Master still lived or not:

_I hate you._

OOOOOOOOOO


	24. when the night ends

If you can, please review every fic you read, it really is important to the author! hell, look how fast I'm posting the rest of the story!

Interestingly enough, the thought of Obi-Wan crossing to the Dark didn't even occur to me as I was writing the last chapter, or at any point in this fic. Though he would look excellent in black, I just don't think it's in him to cross over, so sorry if I scared anyone. It's not him I'm worried about …

OOOOOOOOOO

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty-two: when the night ends

"And I'm telling you, _**friend**_, that he's _**not**_ dead!"

The Corellian stood before the young house slave, blonde head cocked, fists twitching, bouncing on the balls of her booted feet: the very image of angry, desperate denial. Her low voice was insistent as she clenched her fist tightly around the small transmitter chip the silent girl had dropped apologetically into her palm.

"He's not dead," she repeated, dangerously quiet, "and we can make this so much easier on all of us if you just tell me where he is."

"I am sorry, ma'am," the young woman said carefully, genuinely regretful as she dropped her gaze disconsolately to the floor. "I was told to give this to you with the Lady's regrets if you came for Obi-Wan." Despite the apologetic tone in her voice, to Delian her words sounded suspiciously scripted, especially as the girl added, "He simply wasn't suited to the demanding life we slaves must endure here."

"A _**Jedi**_ wasn't suited to moisture farming? That's bullshit," Delian snapped ferociously; the fragile chip splintered in her hand, shards cutting into her skin as she tightened her grip angrily. "He's been through too much to die here in this stupid hellhole."

The Corellian didn't bother wasting time being emotional despite the frustrated tears threatening to break through. She narrowed her gaze as she surveyed the other woman, free hand twitching toward her blaster grip menacingly, irritated by the girl's stalling. "Tell me the truth: where's Kenobi?"

The slave's eyes widened at the implied threat, but she shook her head firmly, long curls rustling behind her as she did so. "I'm sorry," she bit off, "But, please, you must believe me; I can tell you no more."

Through her angry haze, Delian somehow noticed the fear reflected in the girl's eyes – not at her, but something that frightened the slave even more than the budding wrath of Delian Ani-Suru. Forcing herself to calm down, she immediately withdrew her hand from near her holster, facing her palm out regretfully. "I'm sorry," she murmured quietly. "It's just very important that I find Kenobi. I know he's here … but he doesn't belong here."

A small shadow detached itself from one of the long, decorative drapes hanging near the entryway, darting past Delian's line of vision. The young slave's eyes followed the outline fearfully with a firm, futile shake of her head, and a sigh escaped her lips as the shadow reformed into a pale, dull-eyed slip of girl, a little older than Anakin, who quietly came to stand beside her. Delian tried uncomfortably not to stare at the thin furrow scarring the side of the girl's young face, instead forcing a smile she wasn't feeling.

"Do you know where Obi-Wan is?" she asked gently. "Can you help me?"

"Jubily, no," the house slave hissed at the smaller girl, shooting Delian an irate, anxious glare. "Go back to work. _**Please**_. The Lady – "

The young child shook her head fiercely, interrupting in a harsh rasp, "Miral, it's for Obi-Wan. We have to. He needs help." She glanced timidly at Delian, and the Corellian's stomach turned sickly as she considered the young girl who had probably never known what it was to be free or to live without constant fear of punishment. "I can help you," she offered firmly, if a little shyly.

"My sister doesn't know what she's speaking of," Miral interrupted smoothly, shooting a pleading stare at the smaller slave that went unheeded.

"Miral," the girl said quietly, "the Lady will kill him." Her hushed tone turned worried, dreadful shadows haunting her listless eyes as she whispered, "She let the overseers have him again; she said he needed to be taught a lesson. He can't take anymore, Miral, he's so weak now."

Miral's eyes closed painfully, and when they opened again she faced Delian with grim determination. "Obi-Wan had a chance to escape, but they caught him when he tried to free Jubily," she murmured. "For this, we'll tell you where he is, and please – " she reached out to grasp Delian's hand in her own thin fingers, " – if there's any way for you to take Jubily with you when you and Obi-Wan go, please, _**please**_ do."

Delian swallowed hard at the words of both girls, feeling more dread than anything else. She tried to shake herself out of it – she'd finally found Kenobi, and he'd be free to go home with Qui-Gon, back to his Jedi Temple where he could be all adorably high-and-mighty as she'd first teased him about.

So why was her heart pounding and lodged uncomfortably in her throat?

"You must be careful," Jubily warned her fretfully, fidgeting as she gestured down the way she had come. "Follow this hall to a door at the end. Through that door you'll see a small building just outside. Obi-Wan is there." Sad eyes gazed up earnestly at Delian. "Please help him."

"I will," Delian promised, trying to give the girl a reassuring smile despite the crushing weight that had settled on her shoulders. Cautiously she unholstered her blaster – a barely-passable replacement for the customized one Jinn had destroyed and still owed her for – and stalked slowly down the long hall, each step barely louder than a scrape across sand.

She made it down the hallway without incident, out the door, and was palming open the unlocked door to the outbuilding before it hit her:

She'd been here before.

Not physically, she knew, but _oh, Kest, _she had been here many, many times in a dream that she'd first had after meeting Obi-Wan Kenobi; the Bad Dream she'd spent hours and hours telling herself was just a dream, nothing more.

There were doors lining the dark corridor of the outbuilding but Delian ignored them. She knew where she needed to go, hating that everything in this place was so familiar to her without her ever having stepped foot through the door before. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her body, could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Knew that she was already dreading what she would find in the last room as her feet mindlessly propelled her towards the doorway.

_Don't go into the room, Delian. _

_Don't go inside._

But she had no choice. Obi-Wan needed her.

She stepped inside.

OOOOOOOOOO

Marjhan was furious. She had left _**very specific**_ instructions about the type of "lesson" the defiant slave would receive, and her overseers had disobeyed her – recklessly, and to their own agonizing disadvantage, they would soon discover.

Now, she surveyed the still form crumpled in a tangled heap on the floor as her anger boiled terribly.

He was no good to her in this shape, and she had had very detailed and specific plans for him tonight. Her husband would be home in the morning, and she had intended to have Kenobi completely broken before his return, hers willingly and obediently. Risq had a soft spot for the young slave and she would see the end of her accustomed lifestyle if he ever knew what she had done and planned to do to the slave she now knew had once been a Jedi.

She had gone to great lengths to keep Obi-Wan, to the point of carving deeply into his flesh to retrieve the transmitter buried in his thigh and also threatening the life of his Jedi Master if he ever returned for the slave, but now she wondered worriedly if Obi-Wan was better off to her dead. She could easily allow him to die right here on the floor and tell her husband it had been an accident; Risq may suspect, but if she covered it up well enough, he would never have proof.

Marjhan knelt beside Obi-Wan's still body, combing a finger through his ginger hair, streaked and matted with blood and sweat. It may be that she had no choice but to let him die anyway; he wasn't far from it now.

_This wasn't how it was supposed to be_, she thought sadly, tracing the outline of his ear with a fingertip. _We should have been so happy together. Tonight was going to be __**our**__ night, my Obi-Wan, _and the thought of his hands sliding over her skin made her chest tighten with immediate lust …

The door hissed open and Marjhan turned in surprise, irritated by the disturbance then angrier still when she realized who her visitor was.

"What do _**you**_ want?" she snapped as she recognized the woman who had visited her with Jinn earlier. It seemed like so long ago …

The blonde ignored her rudely, staring in horror at the crumpled heap of torn flesh and clothing that was Obi-Wan Kenobi. Marjhan watched suspiciously as the woman shook her head sharply to bring herself back into the moment and, stooping quickly by the slave, checked for any sign the young man still lived. She must have found one, because she turned infuriated eyes to Marjhan and her voice was low and terrible as she spoke.

"He's coming with me."

Suddenly possessive of her beloved prize, feeling the aching of _want _in her chest that was slowly spreading warmly throughout her body - Obi-Wan may not be in the best shape, but they could still have some fun tonight - Marjhan scowled. "I don't think so. He was expensive, and he's one of my favorites."

"Yeah, it shows," the blonde – Delian – snapped at her sharply. "I'll buy him," she added firmly, "if you've managed to leave enough of him worth purchasing."

It was a horrible choice for Marjhan. Give up Obi-Wan? Even now her fingers were twitching toward the shreds of his tunic, hungry to feel the warm, tanned skin beneath.

However …

Marjhan could feel the stickiness of Obi-Wan's bloody ribcage under her wandering hand, the harshly labored movements of his chest struggling to rise and fall and she knew sadly he probably didn't have much longer in this life, may not even make it to day's end. And while Obi-Wan really did please her like none of her previous playthings had, selling him would be an even better excuse to provide her husband; he would be far less angry at her for peddling one of his slaves than for actually killing him.

And if Obi-Wan died from his mistreatment once Delian had taken him away, well, Risq would never know and Marjhan herself could always imagine the young Jedi healed up nicely and they would meet again someday in this life. In fact, she could plan for that.

The Lady of the House flashed the Delian a sardonic smile, struggling to ignore the rueful sadness that overwhelmed her at the thought of losing Obi-Wan. He'd been so beautiful, and such a delicious challenge.

"He'll be good for you," she managed to say, already regretting her decision to let him go but knowing it was best for her. "Trust me. In many ways," she added with a leer she couldn't help; Obi-Wan did that to her, made her go farther than she wanted. The fact that he was dying on her floor right now was proof of that. "He just needs a little … persuading at times." Marjhan caressed a gentle hand down Kenobi's jaw, ignoring the red stain her bloody fingers left there.

"Isn't that right, Obi-Wan?" she prodded, and smiled beatifically when Obi-Wan whimpered under her touch, but the guttural noise that emerged from his throat was more animal than human and the blonde standing anxiously nearby shuddered, grotesquely riveted by the grim display.

"Enough," Delian ordered hoarsely, shaking off the apprehension that blanketed her. She needed to act _**now. **_"Hands off my merchandise. Tell me what you want for him so I can get him to a medcenter," she snapped.

Marjhan immediately named an exorbitant sum, wistfully hoping the other woman would refuse and void the offer, but Delian nodded shortly without even blinking at the price.

"Fine. I'm gonna call for a transport, and I want you to get a doctor or a medkit or whatever the hell you've got to help him. And I'd appreciate it if you stayed where he can't see you but I can." The blonde inclined her head to indicate Marjhan's eyes should follow; she did and frowned when the blonde's fingers wrapped around her blaster grip suggestively.

"I don't know what the hell happened here," Delian continued severely, "but I'm pissed off enough that I'm gonna shoot first and not bother asking questions later because there won't be anyone left to ask. Understand?"

"Of course," Marjhan nodded graciously, tense from the rage in the other woman's eyes. She reached unconsciously for Obi-Wan, again seeking solace in the familiarity of his skin, stroking down his thickly-muscled bicep until the blonde reached over to slap her hand away roughly.

"I. Said. Enough." Delian growled at her threateningly. "Don't touch him again, bitch. If I have to say anything else to you about it, he's gonna be free for my taking because you literally will not have the breath to argue."

OOOOOOOOOO

Though she knew he'd complain, Delian put through a call to her partner, Dirak Biggs, informing him tersely that he was needed desperately at the coordinates she was about to provide. Delian had wisely and obviously determined that Kenobi needed help as soon as possible, and if that meant Dirak had bring one of their faster vessels out to this forsaken moisture farm, then so be it.

She clicked off the link with Dirak and almost called Qui-Gon Jinn, but decided against it – the bastard had left on "more important" business and probably didn't give a damn where Kenobi was anyway.

Marjhan had stepped just outside the door after the medkit was delivered, obediently hovering where Delian could see her and the pilot was glad for it – she was hard-pressed not to put a blaster bolt between the woman's eyes and just end this mess, but Kenobi was her first concern right now; she could take care of that bitch later and she fully intended to, especially if Kenobi died.

Delian bit down hard, trying to calm her anxiety as she waited for Dirak. She didn't even know what to do for Kenobi and for the first time in a very long time, she actually regretted not paying more attention to her parents when they had tried to train her in Healing arts.

Kenobi was fighting the painkillers Marjhan had brought. Why the hell he was doing it, Delian didn't know, but something about the blackness of unconsciousness must have been more frightening to him than existing within layers of pain and Delian wasn't sure if she wanted to know what that something was. She'd never imagined a Jedi would be afraid of the dark.

"Is it helping?" Marjhan asked quietly, and Delian swallowed back her revulsion at the woman's voice. How deeply she'd been involved in Kenobi's current state was a mystery to the Corellian, but she seemed truly concerned, perhaps even remorseful and Delian was spitefully glad for it. She continued to ignore the woman, focusing instead on the battered Jedi jerking agitatedly against the effects of the painkillers Delian had pumped into his system.

Kenobi was whimpering, keening as he tossed restlessly, but as Delian sat cross-legged beside him carding his sticky hair carefully, his swollen blue-grey eyes opened slowly and he struggled to concentrate his wavering, surprised gaze on her.

"Delian?" he whispered gratingly, forcing the name past bruised lips. It sounded nothing like the last time he'd said her name during the Demolition Games: dry, amused, and so damn sexy she'd wanted to throttle him for making her feel anything for him at all. This throaty rasp he spoke her name in now was just … horrible.

Irritated at the unwanted tears that threatened, Delian swiped at her eyes angrily, trying to force a small smile for Kenobi's benefit. "Hey, baby doll," she choked out. "Bet you're glad to see me, aren't you?" Delian shook her head as she gazed at him, numbly surveying the damage now that he'd uncurled his stiff form a little. "Kest, Kenobi, did they leave any part of you in one piece?"

"Don't think so," Kenobi wheezed, fighting to lift a hand to wipe away the thin stream of blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he succeeded only in lengthening it into a smear of red across the dark bruises marring his cheekbone. She noticed his gaze flicking around weakly, and it was a painful moment where the only sound heard was his rasping struggle to breathe before he asked slowly, so damn hopefully: "Qui-Gon?"

Her betraying heart shattered into a thousand pieces and the first tears she'd been fighting to keep in finally broke free to slide down her cheek, dripping lazily off her chin to _plip_ on the Jedi's torn tunic.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry," she breathed, gathering him into her arms as gently as she dared, desperately wanting to comfort him, shooting a warning glare at Marjhan as the dark-haired woman stepped forward, bitter jealousy staining her features. Marjhan backed up spitefully at the Corellian's threatening move toward her blaster, anger twisting her lips into a sneer.

"I'm so sorry," Delian murmured sorrowfully, dropping her gaze back to the Jedi. "He's not here … "

Obi-Wan's battered face fell, and as Delian watched the struggle to fight faded from his eyes, leaving them dull and listless, his rigidly held body going suddenly slack in her arms despite her fierce command to _stay with her, damn it!_

And then there was a rush of noise outside as Dirak arrived and there was no longer any time to consider the various unpleasant things she wanted to do to both Marjhan and Qui-Gon Jinn, there was only Dirak rushing in, his horror-filled eyes taking in the scene before him, and their agonizingly slow movements as they carefully loaded Kenobi onto the portable stretcher. Then there was Marjhan, screaming at them and begging them not to take Kenobi away from her, hissing and crying as Delian shoved her aside roughly, subsiding only when Delian again waved the business end of her blaster at the hysterical woman.

Delian ignored Marjhan as the raven-haired Lady sank to her knees on a darkly-stained patch of flooring that the Corellian knew was soaked with Kenobi's blood, and never had the urge to end someone else's life warred so strongly in Delian as it did in that moment.

OOOOOOOOOO


	25. downfall

Despite being mostly finished for years, this chapter was kind of a bastard to complete and I feel like it shows, so apologies in advance if it comes across as kind of rough, I wrestled with the damn thing for _hours._ As always, I appreciate reader feedback on what works and what doesn't, it helps me avoid similar mistakes in the future. Please bear in mind this fic is currently rated PG13 (or T or whatever); if anyone has an issue with the rating, let me know!

I also appreciate the awesomely positive comments on New Arrangements (which I feel is a sucky title … I'm so bad with that), so thank you, thank you, thank you! Poor Obi-Wan never has it very easy in my world and NA is certainly no exception, but at least Qui-Gon gets off a little better. That's something, right?

OOOOOOOOOO

Included are some of the lyrics to matchbox twenty's "downfall," another inspiration for Marjhan. Thanks also for comments about her; I absolutely love the feedback that many readers have left about her as a character. She's damn creepy, that's for sure.

Onward! There's a missing Jedi Master lurking here somewhere …

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty-three: downfall

oooooooooo

_Wonder how you sleepI wonder what you think of meIf I could go backWould you have ever been with me?I want you to be unusedI want you to rememberI want you to believe in meI want you on my side_

_Come on and lay it downI've always been with youHere and nowGive all that's within youBe my saviorAnd I'll be your downfall…_

oooooooooo

Marjhan's frantic tears and shouts had dwindled to the merest of sighs, her grasping hands now empty and still in her lap. One thing plagued her as she sat quietly on the floor in a sticky, congealing puddle of Obi-Wan's spilled blood, the still damp redness mingling with the scattered sand and staining her long, dark skirt:

Had she let him go too easily?

Should she have done more to keep him here as she'd tried so hard to do? She could have easily called her overseers to deal with the woman Delian to prevent her from taking the slave, could have had her old repair droid patch Obi-Wan up so he could stay with her, and then they would have had many more glorious days to spend together.

Yes, she could have, but Marjhan had also known the chances of Obi-Wan surviving the night were slim; her overseers had been very enthusiastic about enforcing his latest punishment for challenging her, and hadn't left much of the slave for the repair droid to even attempt to put back together.

It was better this way, she had reasoned wisely, sending him off to die: her husband would never find out what she'd done and her life would go on as it had before Obi-Wan had been introduced into it. She certainly didn't need the Jedi slave for her to be happy.

Marjhan closed her eyes. Didn't need him …

She didn't need to see the way his striking eyes widened at her proximity, imbuing her with immediate desire that only he could fully sate …

Didn't need to feel the coiled strength of his trembling body under hers, the warm press of his tanned skin quickening her pulse, tightening her body …

Didn't need to hear the screams she'd finally dragged from his throat echoing in her ears, filling her with a pleased sense of triumph …

Didn't need to feel the utter delight that rippled through her as she openly mocked his anger, his outrage, his desolation at her torments, her teases, her spiteful withholding of the mind- and body-numbing drugs she had gotten him addicted to as his only means of relief from her continued ministrations.

And didn't need to feel the power that coursed in her as she daily brought him to despair or to relief, whichever she chose.

She didn't need him.

oooooooooo

_We're getting off trackI wanna get you back againI want you to trouble meI wanted you turning downI want you to agree with meI want so much so bad…_

oooooooooo

But, _gods_, the more she thought of him, and remembered his dulcet voice, his beautiful face, his muscular, unyielding body, the more she wanted him back _**now**_!

It wasn't _**her**_ fault she'd lost him! It was those bastards who had beat him within a centimeter of his life! It was that bitch Delian who had had the _**gall**_ to slap her hands away when she'd only wanted to comfort her striking, wounded lover, and then taken him away from her after she'd worked so hard to keep him…

She didn't need him. But she _**wanted**_ him.

Spiteful irritation surged through Marjhan, narrowing her dark eyes and shifting her expression into one that Obi-Wan had known well and come to fear with good reason. She hadn't been thinking clearly at all! Everything had happened so fast!

Marjhan reached into her skirt pocket, withdrawing a thin tangle of braided ginger hair which she wove through her fingers absently, angrily. Could she get him back? Was there any way? Even if he died, she should be there, loving, caressing, easing his pain in his final moments! He belonged to her!

Marjhan rose gracefully to her feet, dark tresses swinging gently against her back, clear realization filtering in and already knowing it would be hopeless to attempt to retrieve Obi-Wan. She raged at the unfairness of it; she didn't even have any speeders at her disposal that would catch up with him now:

He was gone.

Marjhan screamed. And screamed, and screamed. Rage, hatred, desire for retribution against the one who had stolen _**her **_Obi-Wan. Fury started a slow boil within her, and Marjhan knew coldly that someone needed to make amends for this, for letting her favorite one be taken from her. Someone needed to feel the ache, the agony, that she was feeling at his loss.

She withdrew a comlink from her skirt and dispatched a succinct message:

"Send a slave to me in the punishment quarters," she ordered tightly. "I don't care who."

OOOOOOOOOO

Night was just falling as Qui-Gon Jinn arrived at the sprawling moisture farm, and the lateness of the hour only served to increase his mounting agitation. Mace's earlier words of caution echoed in the back of his mind, and the Jedi Master knew he had skirted dangerously far from the Living Force if his old friend on Coruscant could still catch the reverberations of his discontent.

Qui-Gon knew he could scarcely be blamed, though, for his inner turmoil; he had been through much personal chaos of late – Force, he'd been heartsick since the day so long ago when he'd watched his apprentice remain behind while he accompanied Queen Amidala on what should have been a simple journey to Coruscant.

A journey that would end in the death of the queen and those with her …

… a journey that _**should**_ have ended in his death, but miraculously hadn't.

He couldn't ignore the guilt of that, it was impossible. It begged for his attention every waking second since he'd first awoken in the medcenter of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, crowding his mind, his thoughts, curling through every word he uttered, every tense breath he drew.

Once, it would have been a small thing for him to release his anxieties and heartache to the Force, but that time had since passed for Qui-Gon Jinn; the levels of his constant physical pain paired with his continual anguished thoughts kept the comforting, calming influence of the Force from soothing him, its once steady shine now dull and distant, his emotion ever clamoring for attention.

Qui-Gon climbed from the rented speeder, checking to ensure the unfamiliar lightsaber was still secured to his belt; his original weapon had been lost when he'd encountered the Sith, and while his borrowed blade from the Temple glowed as brilliant an emerald as his own lightsaber, it still didn't feel quite right; off-putting, just a bit.

It was comforting to have, however, and he wished absently that he'd been able to secure Obi-Wan's lightsaber from Delian; it would have been most rewarding to see the gratitude in his apprentice's eyes as his master triumphantly restored the lost belonging to him: the first step on a long path of healing they both needed.

Delian, however, had refused to give up the reclaimed lightsaber, instead insisting on returning the weapon herself, much to the Jedi Master's annoyance.

Qui-Gon drew a deep breath, blinking as he realized he'd unconsciously bypassed the main house altogether and now stood before a small building darkly silhouetted against the deepening night sky. He was turning back toward the main dwelling, chiding himself for delving into his thoughts and losing his way, when he realized there was an imprint clinging to the building before him that must have led him here while his conscious thought had briefly wandered into thoughts of the past.

An imprint that was unmistakably Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It had been so long, and their Bond had been shattered so abruptly and excruciatingly, that Qui-Gon nearly wept at the faint trace of his Padawan that he could feel here. His anxiety increased as he realized that even that scarce remnant of Obi-Wan was rife with misery and suffering. Gently he prodded at the ragged edges of the Bond that he had buried deep within his mind, knowing the link with his Padawan had been severed but hoping there was still enough there to lead him to his missing apprentice.

He followed the imprint, weaving a little unsteadily as it grew in strength the farther down the shadowy hall he went, realizing even before he had reached the door that the last room was his destination, the last room held his missing Padawan – soon restored to him, and Qui-Gon smiled despite his unease. _Finally_! Weeks of sorrow that had stretched into months were about to come to an end … an apprenticeship, a friendship, a _**family**_ would be remade.

Grief and regret tumbled from his weary frame and tears, this time of joy, stung at his eyes as he rushed into the room.

OOOOOOOOOO

She should have been thrilled, excited, deliciously lustful even at the thought of gently stripping the Jedi down and slowly cleaning his exceptional body with a warm, damp cloth, and the Delian who had been several weeks younger would have fought anyone, teeth bared, for the opportunity she now had to do that very thing …

… but the Obi-Wan Kenobi she had coveted then was far, far different than the battered, trembling shell she was currently trying to keep from shaking his way off the small bunk she and Dirak had secured him to. Delian refused to cry, but Kest, it was getting difficult as she took in the extent of the injuries he had sustained.

Where the hell to even start? It appeared to Delian that she had been correct in posing her earlier disbelieving question to Kenobi: whoever had done this to him may not have actually left any part of him unscathed. From head to toe he was a mess, a mass of blood and bruising, cracked and shattered bones becoming nauseatingly apparent as she ran appraising hands over him carefully.

The most obvious injury was the gaping wound in his thigh, and Delian cringed as she carefully cleaned the shredded flesh, wishing she'd had another set of hands to help her.

_Damn it, Qui-Gon, you should be here!_ she thought angrily, trying to carefully hold Kenobi still with one hand and clean his horrific injury with the other. Kenobi had finally - mercifully - passed out sometime during the frantic transfer to Dirak's ship, succumbing restlessly to the painkillers she had pumped him full of, but even now he twitched and shuddered under her hands, mumbling in agitation.

"Damn it, I'm not a doctor!" she grouched irritably, concerned worry roughening the edges of her own apprehension. "Or a damn Healer. I don't know what the hell to do!"

_Okay, Delian, think_, she commanded herself, unwilling tears biting at her eyes. There was so much damage, how could he even have a chance?

_Think…_

What would her parents have done? Her parents had been skilled Jedi Healers and had tried to steer their daughter into following in their footsteps. Delian had resisted then, but now she wished she'd paid a little more attention if it could possibly help her to ease Kenobi's suffering even a little.

_Focus,_ was the first thing they had tried to teach her. _Focus, and let the Force flow through you._

Delian closed her eyes as she centered her bloodstained hands over Kenobi's gory wound, trying to imagine a bright whiteness that _could be _the Force channeling through her, into the gash, pulling the torn edges together, saving, healing …

… saving …

… healing …

… _come on …_

… _come __**on **_…

Nothing.

Damn it.

Annoyed with herself for even trying – _what the hell was I thinking?_ – Delian jerked her hands away, feeling foolish for pretending to be something she very clearly wasn't. She was a pilot, a racer, a gamer, nothing more.

Quickly she set about binding the wound, jolting in distracted surprise when Kenobi twitched under her light touch, pulling away from her.

"Stop it … " he whispered, his weary voice scraping out gravelly and harsh, aching in her ears with the underlying terror in his barely lucid rasp. "…don't touch me … _please … please stop_ … "

"Oh, Kest, Kenobi, I'm trying to _**help**_ you," she muttered, tensing with anxiety, withdrawing her hands as much as she dared. "Please, sweetheart, just be still … "

There wasn't much more she could do for his leg, so with a sigh, the Corellian turned her attention to the myriad of other horrific injuries: vivid bruises, seeping cuts, new scars overlapping older blemishes, broken bones to be set …

… and she wondered what the hell had happened to Qui-Gon Jinn.

OOOOOOOOOO

He strode into the room fearfully, taking in the dank block permacrete walls, the frayed ropes looped through metal rings set deep in them, the sand strewn over the floor. He glimpsed the dark shadow of a woman standing in the middle of the room, twisting a familiar long, thin braid between her restless fingers.

And he saw blood, so damned much blood that Qui-Gon's breath caught in his throat and his vision hazed red – or maybe that was just the ruby that stained parts of the walls and floor. He knew without guessing whose blood it was…

But Obi-Wan wasn't here.

Ever-lurking remorse and fear rushed back into the Jedi Master, stealing his brief joy and replacing it with far darker thoughts: the imprint of Obi-Wan screamed here, and though his Padawan was not present, it seemed to Qui-Gon's guilt-stricken conscience that he could hear the lingering echo of Obi-Wan's once wryly amused voice now rough and begging, pleading for the Master who didn't come in time to save him.

He was too late.

He had delayed too long.

He should never have even considered accepting the Council's mandate to go after Sifo-Dyas.

He had failed, and Obi-Wan may be dead because of him.

Qui-Gon sank to his knees, memories of his Padawan overwhelming him … his dry sense of humor, the way he smiled, how Qui-Gon had watched him grow from an awkward teenager to a strong and accomplished young man who was always ready with an answer, a solution, or a cynical comment to lighten a tense mood. Ten years flashed before his eyes, and his heart pounded painfully in his chest, threatening to finally just give up the long struggle against all of the strain the Jedi Master had forced himself through of late.

"What happened here?" he breathed, barely forcing the words out. "I know that Obi-Wan was here… "

The silent woman shifted, a cold, unrepentant smile sliding across her perfect lips. He could sense the darkness all around her, could feel the cruelty that slid off of her supple body; it thickened the air around him, suffocating him as she stood blithely in a chilling puddle of the blood of his Padawan, uncaring that she had harmed Obi-Wan even as she was hurting his Master now with every word she uttered viciously sharpened to wound.

oooooooooo

_Now I'm back on my ownHear my feet, they're made of stoneMan, I make you go where I goWell hell, you, can I take you home?_

oooooooooo

"He _**was**_ here, yes, but he was … difficult," Marjhan spoke maliciously, deliberately torturing him with her carelessness, the words falling like weights over his bowed back. "I did only what was necessary to keep him in line," the Lady of the House assured sweetly, her voice dripping sugar and honey. "You said he was your apprentice, so you should know how _**obstinate**_ he could be."

Marjhan allowed her smile to widen; the nameless slave the overseer would choose to send here to her hadn't been escorted in yet, but how beautiful and fitting it was to take her anger and remorse at the loss of Obi-Wan out on the one who had given him up in the first place!

It was intoxicating, watching the anguish that swelled in his deepset cornflower eyes, to persecute one who knew how she herself was feeling at Obi-Wan's loss.

"Necessary?" Qui-Gon whispered harshly, unable to shut out the cacophony of Obi-Wan's screams through the imprint of the Force Obi-Wan had unknowingly left in this horrific room - or was it just a trick of his tired mind, knowing that his Padawan may have died here alone because his master had been too late? Qui-Gon couldn't block the agony rushing through his mind at the knowledge that this woman, this _**creature**_ of unthinking evil had lied to him, sent him away, and then proceeded to devastate his Padawan …

It tore at his thoughts, fed his guilt, brought pained tears to his eyes. _Obi-Wan… _

Anger slowly bled in to replace the sadness, filling the void left by the Living Force and Qui-Gon surged to his feet, towering over the woman, staring down at her with a single tormented question burning his mouth as he forced the words out.

"You took an innocent boy, stole from him everything he held dear, hurt and humiliated him, _**destroyed**_ him," he could barely speak past the pain that closed his throat in grief, "… And you call that _**necessary**_?"

Marjhan's hateful eyes glared into him, but she straightened proudly, coldly.

"I did what I did, Master Jinn," she said airily, "and I make no apologies." Remembered lust stretched the corners of her blood-lipped smile farther. "We had a good time, Obi-Wan and I," she added pointedly, enjoying the way the Jedi's eyes widened as pained realization crashed through him. She'd never broken anyone with words before, and Marjhan was malevolently pleased by the agony that was rolling off of Jinn in abundant waves. _**He**_ would have been a delightful challenge; not as delicious as her beautiful Obi-Wan, but sturdier, more thickly masculine…

"_Stop it_… " Qui-Gon whispered despairingly, anger winding through his voice, head bowed, shoulders curled in on himself, shrinking under her assault as his Padawan had done before him. "Please … just tell me where he is … "

Marjhan pushed a little farther, confident she was close to overwhelming the Jedi, knowing from much practice she was a very good judge of just how far to go…

oooooooooo

_Well, I'm coming home on my backKissing me, your lips painted blackSaying oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, ohLet me be your downfallOh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, ohLet me be your downfall, baby…_

oooooooooo

"He held out longer than most," she purred, twisting a long, polished finger into the limp tangles of the Jedi Master's chestnut hair. "and I had such wonderful plans for us this very evening." Marjhan smiled. "He learned so well, and he was," her voice dropped to a murmur, "very, _**very**_ good with only a little persuasion… perhaps he learned from you?" The man before her shook under her touch now, muscles bunching and jumping.

"_**Please**_," he mumbled, "just tell me … " He backed away but her grip on his arm, though light, froze him where he stood. Marjhan waved a hand to encompass the dismal chamber, feral enjoyment at the Jedi Master's hitching breaths breathing its own life into her, making her feel almost as alive as she had when it had been Obi-Wan shuddering under her hands.

"He was so beautiful," she continued lazily, "so _**good**_, and _**pure,**_" the sneer in her voice was so pronounced Qui-Gon felt his confused gaze alight on her lips, watching the terrible words as they formed, waiting excruciatingly for them to be spoken into the dim light. "Why anyone would _**sell**_ that one … Well," she grinned cheekily, so close to him now that her nose almost bumped into his chest, staring up at him with curious innocence in her eyes. "I'm sure you had your reasons. Something better comes along and we do what we have to do."

Something like guilt flashed through his expression; he was so close to breaking it almost made up for all of her weeks of frustration with Obi-Wan. "I too had to choose," she assured him gently. "His most recent punishment was too harsh for him to bear and in the end I had to let him go."

"_**Stop**__… "_

Coldly calculating, Marjhan drove in the final wedge, victory tantalizingly in her reach: "I'm only sorry there was so little of him left to sell – " She waved a hand airily. "Well, you can see for yourself … "

Jinn moved suddenly then, and Marjhan felt the rush of air that brushed past her. And then the Lady of the House registered an unusual sound she'd never heard before: a _snap-hiss!_ and an accompanying hum that embraced her senses warmly: the last thing she would ever hear in this world before blinding pain flashed through her for a mere second as the emerald blade of a lightsaber pierced her chest before she could say another word.

OOOOOOOOOO

Kenobi was screaming.

It was a horrible to hear the raspy screeching clawing its way from his throat, the frantically shouted words 'no!' and 'Qui-Gon!' the only things Delian could make out amidst his tormented cries. The monitors that Delian had plugged him into were shrieking as Kenobi's levels jerked erratically and without hesitation she grabbed another shot of painkiller and slammed it into his arm, depressing the plunger and trying to gather his writhing body into her arms to keep him in place. Her nearness only increased his panicked agitation, and he struggled harder against her, pathetically weak in her loose grip.

"Kenobi!" she shouted over his desperate howls, "Obi-Wan! Damn it! Settle down, sweetheart!"

His open eyes were wide, greyed with pain and horror, Qui-Gon's name spilling repeatedly from his bloody lips while Delian murmured words of comfort as she prayed feverishly for the painkiller to kick in. He finally tiredly mumbled something unintelligible and his head slumped onto his chest, his labored breathing dwindling to the merest of sighs.

"Oh, Kest," Delian breathed, heart still thudding in her ears as adrenaline made her own limbs twitch. She pulled his shaking body tightly to her and stroked his scored back, crossed multiple times with thin red lines from a merciless lash, very, very lightly.

"It's okay, baby," she whispered, knowing she was lying to him but unsure what else to say. "It's okay."

OOOOOOOOOO


	26. interlude II

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

interlude II

Love.

He remembered, through the haze, that at one time love had existed in his life and he'd welcomed it – hesitantly at first, as he was a cautious soul by nature – but slowly it had gained a foothold in a terrified young man who had lost everything familiar, and the ache started to fade little by little.

Though the Jedi did not openly espouse the concept of love in the Code, he had quickly learned that love existed in the quiet moments: a friendly hand on his shoulder, an amused tug on his braid. Warm praise in those oddly fractured sentences of Master Yoda's. A hug from a rescued child. Knowing that he _belonged._

He had thought that that was what love was. He had believed it until now.

Until those words had slipped from the Lady's lips while she cradled his head, his blood soaking into her dress, her body moving over his while she … while she …

_I love you, my beautiful one. _

It was so quiet here, so blissfully quiet.

_I love to hear you say my name. I love when you cry and when you scream. _

She had loved his pain, and when she hurt him she told him that she loved him and he wondered if he'd had the wrong idea about love all along, maybe love _wasn't_ in the quiet moments, maybe it was when she touched him and teased him and laughed at him and hurt him …

But there was his own voice in his mind, before it had been worn down to the raspy whisper it had become: _I have to follow my path, too. Leave me to do my duty._

And then _**that**_ voice: _My dear Obi-Wan, you've never done anything less. I am so very proud of you, Padawan. So very proud._

He'd wanted to believe that, but the memory was scored over by Delian's voice, worried and regretful_: Oh, baby, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. He's not here … _

He stifled a sob and retreated back to his quiet place. He could stay here. It was so confusing _out there_, even though _in here_ was no holiday either, with so many memories crowding his scattered thoughts. Each of them demanded he pay attention to _them_, that he process his thoughts and what had happened to him, but he refused. He _knew_ what had happened to him.

Just as he knew what had happened to others he'd once cared about.

He knew that Qui-Gon had left him to die and he hated his former Master for that.

He knew that Delian hadn't been able to find him and had probably given up on him. He didn't blame her.

He knew that Anakin had been killed by the Sith and he grieved the loss.

And he knew that at one time he had been destined to be a Jedi, but no longer.

Love had saved him once, but Obi-Wan knew he was too far gone this time. There was no redemption for this lost one.

A twinge of pain crawled up his leg where _she_ had dug the transmitter out of his thigh.

Soon enough Marjhan would be in with the hypo, and he could fade away. He wouldn't have to work to stay in his quiet place; it would find him and swallow him and drown out the aching in his soul.

He just had to wait a little more and she would be here.

It wouldn't be much longer.

Not much longer at all.

OOOOOOOOOO


	27. away from here

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty-four: away from here

Delian Ani-Suru rested her blonde head carefully on one upturned, shaking hand while the other hand fought tiredly to keep her braced upright against the cabin's wall paneling.

Had it only been a day? One damn day in a series of horrendous damned days of searching, waiting, and hoping, until she'd finally, _**finally**_ found Kenobi and then everything should have been okay, was supposed to have been all right. She would patch him up, he'd eat and sleep off his time on the moisture farm, and they might even laugh about Delian "leasing" him from Watto and Kenobi trying to tear apart the lumpy bastard vehicle she'd given him to use in the Demolition Games. Things would be a little awkward at first, but they'd settle back into their routine.

That's how it had worked out in her fantasy – well, there were _**other**_ things involved because it was her _**fantasy**_, after all – but that had been the core thought that had kept her going, kept her looking for him after he'd disappeared and been gone for so long.

And then she had found him.

What was left of him.

Yes, she had indeed found Kenobi, but the harsh reality of his current state was far from the idealistic reuniting that had kept her looking for him day after day. Rather than laughing and sharing beverages designed to take the edge off of their better judgment, Delian had swallowed back the bile that crowded into her throat as she'd meticulously washed sluggishly congealing blood and layers of dirt from Kenobi's grotesquely thin and wounded body. Rather than melding with his firm frame in a shy almost-lover's embrace of greeting, she'd had to throw her body overtop his to keep him from convulsing off of the narrow bunk when his overloaded system just couldn't take any more. And adding to the irony was that after waiting so long to hear his warm voice, Delian was supremely grateful that the Jedi had finally fallen silent, had finally stopped screaming, his frantic cries echoing off the ship's interior and setting her teeth on edge.

Lifting her head fractionally, Delian glanced over to where Obi-Wan Kenobi lay quietly on the cabin's narrow bunk, having succumbed to the mostly-painless darkness that his exhausted body had at last urged him into with the help of a couple rounds of strong painkillers the Corellian had pumped into him.

She watched as the Jedi shifted slightly, carefully, his full mouth turned down into a frown that even forced unconsciousness couldn't completely erase, his mangled and torn body gently cleaned and his multitude of wounds wrapped and mostly hidden from view by a thin sheet stretched up to his chest.

It wasn't fair.

She was supposed to be holding him, laughing with him, teasing him. Not standing here, too damn much of his blood coloring her clothes while she forced herself not to prepare for the worst.

For his part, Kenobi slept; utterly unaware of the woman who sagged wearily nearby despite the fact she had quite probably saved his life. In stark contrast to Kenobi's oblivious state, Delian was acutely aware of each breath, each twitch, the Jedi made, his quiet whimpers tensing her chest as easily as his insensible screaming had just moments earlier.

She was grateful for his silence, but not the cost: he'd only stopped screaming because he'd lapsed back into unconsciousness and had been sinking deeper into oblivion ever since. Whatever had set him off earlier – she had barely been able to make out Qui-Gon Jinn's name amidst his delirious panic – had sent him into an darkness she just couldn't bring him out of. Dirak Biggs, piloting their small craft toward the nearest medcenter, had helped Delian bring the Jedi aboard and the Corellian had seen the resignation in her business partner's eyes as he surveyed Kenobi's impressive and varied collection of wounds; she knew that Dirak, at least, had no illusions about the Jedi's chances for survival.

They were losing him, but Delian refused to accept it. The fatigued Corellian absolutely refused to admit that Kenobi's wounds were too severe, the damage too extensive, his will to live non-existent. She hadn't come this far to lose him now.

Fortunately Delian was a betting woman, and she refused to give up on Kenobi. Especially since he owed her a huge marker now for saving his life. Ruminating on the delicious ways Kenobi could work off his life debt allowed a small smile to creep across the Corellian's face: no way she could let him die when he owed her.

Obi-Wan Kenobi _**owed**_ her: now that was a thought to hold on to.

Or would be, if the Jedi lying before her was the same Jedi she had parted with. Delian gritted her teeth as she recalled the way Kenobi had flinched under her touch when she'd tried to help him.

_No time to think like that. Focus on keeping him alive. _Delian twisted one of her earrings apprehensively, completely unsure of her next step. She was about to com Dirak for an ETA when her personal comlink chirped cheerfully, and she instantly hated it for its joyful sound. She thumbed it on warily.

"Yeah?"

The completely unexpected voice of Qui-Gon Jinn filled the tiny cabin, and Delian clenched the small device tightly against the surge of anger that washed through her at the Jedi Master's voice. She remembered she'd given him her comm code that first night in Mos Espa and now wished she hadn't. She childishly but sincerely hoped he was having a worse day than she was, though she doubted at the moment that was possible.

Jinn – Obi-Wan's Jedi Master – had helped her search for Kenobi, and then when they were so close, _**so close **_to finding him, the bastard had run off on another "assignment," leaving Delian to go back to that damn moisture farm alone and haul Kenobi's broken body toward his best chance for survival.

As far as Delian was concerned, Jinn didn't factor into her plans for Kenobi any longer. He'd given up that right twice now, and Delian didn't see any reason to make it three times.

"Delian, Qui-Gon Jinn." He sounded weary and she was unpleasantly glad for it, thinking spitefully that if Qui-Gon had had his priorities straight in the first place, Kenobi wouldn't be lying here dying on her bunk. Delian found that being angry at the Jedi Master, while unproductive, made her feel a little bit more in control of the situation than when it was just her alone versus Obi-Wan Kenobi's lack of desire to survive.

"It's about damn time!" she snapped, her voice lowered to a hiss to keep from potentially disturbing Kenobi's already troubled unconsciousness. "Where the hell are you and why are you calling me anyway? I thought you had 'more important' shit to do!"

"I went back. Obi-Wan wasn't there." Jinn's voice sounded strangely hollow, every word forced out painfully, scraping through the tinny speaker.

"'Wasn't there ' – what? You went back?" Delian's mind switched tracks rapidly, stunned. He'd gone back for Kenobi? Had she misjudged him?

_No,_ she determined decisively. He should have gone with her from the beginning. Shaking her head, she murmured, "I already got him, Qui-Gon. Kenobi's with me."

Silence was the only reply that greeted her for several seconds and she almost clicked the comlink off, figuring the call had been disrupted and actually relieved to have a reason not to talk with the Jedi Master when Qui-Gon spoke again.

"With you?" he repeated slowly, sounding as dazed as she'd ever heard him. "Obi-Wan … is with you?"

"Yeah," Delian snapped succinctly, already tired of the exchange and anxious to get back to Kenobi even if the only she could do was fret by his bedside. It sure as hell beat _**this **_conversation.

"Is he … how is he?" The Jedi Master was stumbling over the words and Delian felt the tiniest bit of her anger chip off. She sighed, watching the shuddering figure on the bunk.

"He's not good, Qui-Gon," she admitted quietly, just in case Kenobi chose that moment to hear her. "We're taking him to the medcenter in Mos Runa."

There was no hesitation in the Jedi Master's voice – she had barely finished her sentence before he broke in easily. "No - I want you to meet me at the coordinates I will give you, just outside Mos Espa," Jinn ordered, the smallest ray of hope breaking into his rough voice. "My ship is there. I will contact the Jedi Council and have them send Healers to meet us en route."

His tone offered no compromise and Delian's expression twisted into a sneer; she was distinctly unhappy with the thought of turning Kenobi back over to Jinn when she felt the Jedi Master had made his priorities abundantly clear by choosing not to accompany her back to the moisture farm to look for Kenobi.

But he was also the best chance Kenobi had.

She clicked off the comlink without answering, moving forward and laying a gentle hand on Kenobi.

"Hey," she whispered, gently squeezing his tanned, puncture-riddled forearm. "Kenobi, it's me. Uh, Delian," she added awkwardly. "Listen… we're gonna meet up with Qui-Gon Jinn; I think he can help you. Is that okay?" There was no verbal response, and Delian watched him hard for any sort of reaction. "'Cause if it's not you're gonna have to wake up and tell me, sweetheart, it's your only option." He trembled harder under her fingers; whether from her touch or the mention of Qui-Gon, she wasn't sure. "Not good enough," she grumbled. "That's not waking up, baby. You're gonna have to do better than that."

Delian sighed, straightening, gently dragging her fingers through his ginger hair. She'd sealed the bleeding gashes in his scalp and washed his hair carefully, but it did little to improve his overall battered appearance.

She wasn't pleased by the thought, but it did appear that Jinn was Kenobi's best hope. Quietly, she forwarded the coordinates Qui-Gon sent her on to Dirak in the cockpit, and settled back into her silent vigil, echoes of Kenobi's shattered screams drifting through her exhausted mind.

OOOOOOOOOO

Qui-Gon had used his comlink to relay a message through the waiting ship docked in the city's outskirts to the Jedi Council; he'd deliberately spoken with Adi Gallia, a junior member of the Council, knowing that any contact with Mace Windu or even Yoda needed to be avoided right now. They knew him too well, and would easily pick up on the tremor in his voice, the unsteady quaver in his words.

Qui-Gon noticed his large hand was shaking as he put his comlink down carefully, refocusing his attention on the speeder's steering grips. He had a brief stop to make first, but then he would get to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan was alive. For now.

He hadn't missed Delian's tone, had felt the cold fear that stabbed through her short words:

_He's not good, Qui-Gon._

_Not good_. He could easily translate the statement from the usually optimistic pilot: Obi-Wan was dying. His Padawan was dying because that witch had … had …

But he had stopped her. He had made sure she would never touch Obi-Wan again.

Qui-Gon had to close his eyes briefly against the memory of his body moving seemingly independently of his brain to stop the woman, Marjhan, to stop the poison that flowed from her lips, the devastation wrought by her cruel hands … he had struck her down to stop her.

He had killed an unarmed woman.

The Jedi Master shuddered despite the warmth of the suns soaking into his skin.

OOOOOOOOOO

_What the __**hell**__?_ was Delian's first irritated thought when Qui-Gon Jinn's rented speeder came into view and she caught sight of a small, sandy-colored mop of hair poking over the edge of passenger side.

"Hey, Delian!"

The instant the speeder stopped Anakin Skywalker vaulted over the side, his short, quick strides bringing him hastily to where she had been prowling restlessly outside Qui-Gon's vessel awaiting the Jedi's arrival. Delian was relieved, of course, that Anakin had recovered from his injuries, and he seemed cheerful and excited to be accompanying the Jedi Master, but that didn't mean she felt the best place for him was _**here**_ right now.

Delian wished she could smile at his enthusiasm, but the fact that Jinn had gone _**out of his way**_ to retrieve Anakin while Kenobi was dying in shattered pieces burned horribly under her skin and the Corellian found herself swallowing hard before she could even get a short nod off to the boy. She swung away from the approaching Jedi Master, brutally forcing the tears stinging at her eyes to stay in check. Kenobi needed her. Kenobi needed someone who _**cared**_.

"He's in here," she ground out. "Dirak and I will move him – "

A wall of russet blew past her, and she quickened her pace up the ramp to catch up with the Jedi Master's retreating back – a barrier of solid muscle that she actually bumped into when he abruptly stopped short as he reached Kenobi. Wavering hands, large but gentle, drifted to Kenobi's forehead as Qui-Gon brushed his fingers carefully through the soft ginger strands spilling over Kenobi's closed eyelids.

"His hair is longer," Qui-Gon murmured quietly.

Ignoring the Jedi Master's softly-voiced shock, Delian pushed past him to start unhooking monitors and tubing. "Yeah, that's what I noticed too," she snapped. "Now move so we can get him some help!"

Qui-Gon leant past her; it was laughably easy for the Jedi, not yet even fully recovered himself, to balance and carry the emaciated form of his Padawan, but Qui-Gon took to the task with great care, angling Kenobi's sagging frame against his own sturdy chest and moving toward the hatch. Delian followed, shouting to Dirak over her shoulder that she would contact him once they were on their way and Kenobi was settled. At her words, Jinn shook his head shortly.

"You're staying here. There's no reason for you to come to Coruscant." It was a statement she ignored, brushing past him deliberately.

"Screw you," the Corellian snapped shortly, turning to pierce him with her amber gaze. "I think of the two of us, I have more right to be with him than you do, so you can take your high-and-mightiness and shove it back up your ass. I'm coming with him."

She turned her back on him, disappearing into the depths of the Council vessel.

OOOOOOOOOO

The engines hummed a soothing lullaby as the vessel moved through hyperspace, speeding them toward a rendezvous with a Council ship carrying a Healer. Anakin and Delian slept, and Qui-Gon was grateful for the silence as he sat by Obi-Wan's bedside, keeping quiet vigil over his lost Padawan.

He brushed a hand through Obi-Wan's thick hair, noticing with a small smile the copper highlights that Tatooine's suns had set afire in the usually tame ginger strands. There was a horrible emptiness where Obi-Wan's Padawan braid should have been, and Qui-Gon's hand went to a small pouch on his belt, dipping inside and feeling the softness of the braid tucked away there. He had taken from Marjhan's chilling body the symbol of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship – even though Obi-Wan deserved to be promoted to Jedi Knight for slaying the Sith creature, Qui-Gon was certain he would want to keep the braid he had worn for so long under Qui-Gon's tutelage.

In the bunk behind the Jedi Master, Anakin mumbled in his sleep and turned over, and Qui-Gon was relieved the boy didn't awaken; he had chattered incessantly while Qui-Gon and Delian worked to get Obi-Wan secured and make sure he was sedated. Had Obi-Wan ever talked that much when was Anakin's age? Qui-Gon didn't think so.

The Jedi Master's gentle hand drifted back to his Padawan, resting on a shoulder that easily protruded through Obi-Wan's bruised skin. Words slipped through his mind then as grief crowded at his throat.

*There is no emotion, there is peace.*

A sorrowful tear slipped down the Jedi Master's lined face as he rubbed healing salve carefully over the black and green mottled skin around Obi-Wan's left eye and across his cheekbone.

"_What'd you offer, Padawan? I could sell you for that much," he'd teased, relieved that Obi-Wan had found a way to get them off-planet. Obi-Wan had just smiled, though Qui-Gon had noticed that his eyes were grave._

"_You just did."_

Gently along ribs that he could count Qui-Gon continued rubbing salve tenderly into the extensive bruising and cautiously around the myriad of small cuts. They'd had to lie Obi-Wan on his back, but Qui-Gon knew there was a crisscrossing of fine lash lines scoring the tanned skin there that he would need to treat later.

"_What about the boy, Anakin? Does your 'exchange' permit his freedom? Can I take him with me, at least?" _

*There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.*

The words didn't give the Jedi Master the comfort they normally did, but Qui-Gon continued to recite them as he carefully checked the gouge on Obi-Wan's thigh. He swallowed his nausea back as he realized how deep into the muscle had been sliced and he hastily rewrapped the seeping wound.

*There is no passion, there is serenity.*

"_Be extremely careful, Obi-Wan. I'll be back very soon."_

There was nothing he could do for the thick scarring on the soles of Obi-Wan's feet, but he rubbed salve on the old wounds anyway, desperate to keep his mind focused.

"_He was here, yes, but he was … difficult. I did only what was necessary to keep him in line…"_

A choked growl forced its way from the Jedi Master's throat as he thought of the woman he had slain. The Council would understand – he had done it for Obi-Wan. He'd thought she'd killed his Padawan, and if she hadn't killed him, at the very least the damage she had done was displayed before Qui-Gon: a gruesome, battered wreckage that had once been his healthy, vibrant, _**whole**_ Padawan.

_You took an innocent boy, stole from him everything he held dear, hurt and humiliated him, __**destroyed**__ him, and you call that __**necessary**__?_

Obi-Wan, too, would understand what his master had done for him. Qui-Gon grit his teeth as he came to the last verse of the Jedi Code:

*There is no death, there is the Force.*

Obi-Wan would _**live**_ to understand.

OOOOOOOOOO


	28. he cast no shadow

Please read and review! Reviews make up for the shirtless Obi-Wan we never got to see in the movies.

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty-five: he cast no shadow

oooooooooo

_Chained to all the places that he never wished to sayBound with all the weight of all the words he tried to sayand as he faced the sun he cast no shadow_

oooooooooo

Qui-Gon wearily resisted the urge to pace the small corridor, though his palpable agitation sent unsteady tremors through the space around him like shockwaves. As a well-trained Jedi Master, he was extensively trained in the ability to remain calm in almost any situation, but events that had transpired of late had strained even his generous capacity well past its breaking point. Although, considering that he was quietly leaving behind the cold body of a woman he had slain due to his lack of control - regardless of the fact that she had nearly destroyed Obi-Wan - "well past" his breaking point may in fact be putting it far too lightly.

He ignored that nagging memory determinedly; the only thing that mattered to him at present was that his Padawan with whom he hadn't spoken in months and had parted with poorly, was dying on the other side of the door the Healer before him was very resolutely keeping him from going through.

Again and again he had asked, begged, even _**demanded**_ to see his Padawan; again and again the answer remained unchanged, as it had every time he asked: "I'm sorry, Master Jinn, Padawan Kenobi is not to have any visitors. His condition is grave and any disruption of his care and solitude could lessen his ultimate chance for survival."

The clinical words were spoken kindly, but didn't diminish the tense ache that had wrapped around Qui-Gon's broad chest since before he had even collected his Padawan's failing body from Delian Ani-Suru on Tatooine.

"Please, Master Healer." Qui-Gon held up a large, unthreatening hand, callused palm out pleadingly, his tired voice wavering. "I just need to see him. I shall of course stay out of your way and not interfere with Obi-Wan's treatment."

"I'm sorry, Qui-Gon," the Jedi Healer repeated softly, less formal but no less implacable. The Healer bowed slightly out of respect for Qui-Gon's rank and backed through the open doorway behind him; as it had countless times already, the unforgiving door to Obi-Wan's cabin slid closed on the discouraged Master, remorselessly cutting off Qui-Gon's opportunity to even glance in on his wounded apprentice. Qui-Gon instinctively lifted a fist to slam against the silently mocking barrier but he pulled back before his frustration got the better of him, before the skittering shreds of his control were allowed this base form of release. Resolutely restraining himself, he instead turned his aching body to trudge back to his own cabin, his self-chosen area of exile.

Days that felt like lightyears had only increased the depth of the tight, craggy lines of worry creasing the Jedi Master's tired ice blue eyes. They had successfully rendezvoused as quickly as possible with the Council ship bringing a Healer for Obi-Wan a few days before, and though Qui-Gon had haunted his Padawan's bedside up until that point, he hadn't seen his apprentice since he, Delian, and Anakin Skywalker had transferred with Obi-Wan to the Council-assigned vessel and the Healer now responsible for Obi-Wan's care had gently ushered him out of the Padawan's room with a stern command that he rest as well. The Healer had even stopped in to check on Qui-Gon later, frowning and _hmm_ing disapprovingly at the strain Qui-Gon had clearly put himself under after leaving Coruscant with a not fully healed lightsaber hole in his belly.

This was _**ridiculous**_. He should be with Obi-Wan. He had seen no more of Obi-Wan on the Council vessel than he would have if he had remained on his ship with the pilot that had accompanied the rescue party so he could bring Qui-Gon's ship home since Qui-Gon was supposed to be "resting."

Unfortunately, resting was not something Qui-Gon Jinn had been able to do well of late, and especially when the health of his Padawan was at the forefront of his mind - and there had been many, many days during the training of Obi-Wan Kenobi wherein Qui-Gon's ability to relax had been put to the test. Obi-Wan had, rather shockingly, turned out to be by far the most accident-prone Padawan Qui-Gon had even known and had, Qui-Gon was certain, contributed more than his fair share of the long grey strands now streaking liberally through the Jedi Master's chestnut hair.

Qui-Gon's weary steps brought him to his own door but he stole another glance at Obi-Wan's closed door down the passageway. Regardless of the worry Obi-Wan had constantly - albeit unintentionally - caused him, Qui-Gon had always been there, waiting by his apprentice's bedside when the young man was sick or injured or caught in one of the nightmares the Unifying Force occasionally used to send visions to his prescient Padawan. Qui-Gon had always been there, waiting, comforting, holding if necessary - at least, when Obi-Wan was younger - soothing and loving the young man he had watched grow into a confident, capable Jedi. Yoda and the Council may frown on pride and love, but Qui-Gon couldn't help but be proud of his apprentice for Obi-Wan had earned it multiple times over. How could his Master _**not**_ feel a father's adoration and pride in one as remarkable as Obi-Wan?

And how could he _**not**_ feel a father's anguish when he was ordered to rest instead of sitting by his ailing little one? Of course he wasn't able to rest, so instead he paced his small cabin awkwardly, steadfastly ignoring the pull in his belly of his wounded skin and muscle straining to keep up the pace he was demanding from his exhausted body.

He could venture out into the lounge where Delian and Anakin would most likely be if he felt that company would distract him from thinking about Obi-Wan, but he preferred to be alone. He certainly wasn't _**hiding**_ from the pair, though he felt he could hardly be blamed if he were: the surly Corellian pilot glared sharply at him every time she caught his gaze - which she worked purposefully at doing - and Anakin had not stopped chattering about being one of the best podracers in the galaxy, though with each boast the boy shot a nervous glance toward Obi-Wan's cabin door. This reaction elicited a small smile from the Jedi Master; Qui-Gon truly regretted missing the conversations that must have passed between Anakin and Obi-Wan during the Padawan's stint working in Watto's junk shop. Though it had been too achingly long since he'd heard even a shred of his Padawan's remarkably dry wit, Qui-Gon actually found he could easily imagine the things Obi-Wan might've said; it wasn't difficult, considering that Qui-Gon had spent over a decade with the young Padawan.

Qui-Gon had tried to glean information from Anakin about Obi-Wan's stay on Tatooine, but the boy had very quickly and skillfully for one so young changed the subject, directing the conversation back to his own podracing merits and how he was looking forward to being Qui-Gon's new Padawan. Qui-Gon wanted to kindly assure the child that he also was looking forward to Anakin's training, but one memory of Obi-Wan's scored, damaged body was enough to make Qui-Gon want to swear off training another apprentice ever again.

As he waited impatiently, Qui-Gon wondered what Obi-Wan would say to him when he awoke, but he was not to find out that day of their return journey to Coruscant. Obi-Wan slept on, or at least was silent.

OOOOOOOOOO

Delian was prowling the passageways, glaring at him every time he was in range, and though Qui-Gon tried to keep focused long enough to give Anakin some basic training and pointers for meeting with the Council members once they arrived at the Temple, he found it difficult to present anything more than a lackluster front while he continued to wait anxiously for news of Obi-Wan.

At the moment he was, to his shame, only half-heartedly correcting Anakin's stance as the boy fumbled with the unfamiliar grip of a lightsaber handle. Staying well out of range of the sizzling saber - they hadn't had a practice one to use - Qui-Gon directed Anakin to carefully swing the saber in a gentle arc while still firmly grasping the weapon. Qui-Gon shouldn't have been surprised that an amazingly high midichlorian count didn't automatically mean the boy would be an expert duelist, but it exasperated him nonetheless that he was correcting Anakin for the same error for the fifteenth time.

Anakin, for his part, was equally irritated.

"What's wrong with the way I'm doing it?" he demanded, waving the lightsaber in the air in childish annoyance. "It works just as well this way!"

Qui-Gon thought he caught Delian smirking out of the corner of his eye; the Corellian had been "helpfully" assisting Qui-Gon with Anakin's tutelage, and they had reached a point where Qui-Gon actually fervently wished she would just go back to glaring at him rather than voicing her own observations.

"Yeah, he looks like he's doing fine to me," Delian piped up innocently, a smirk twisting her lips into an approximation of a naively questioning smile as she repeated Anakin's unhappy query. "What's wrong with the way he's doing it, Qui-Gon?"

"He's doing the maneuver incorrectly and his footwork is off, as I have already pointed out numerous times." Qui-Gon fought to keep the snap from his tone, but tension and worry over Obi-Wan continued to bleed down into his stomach and make his guy clench sickly in anxiety. The Jedi Master straightened upright with some effort, swallowing back a gasp as a dozen aches made themselves known. "Let's take a break, Anakin," he suggested quietly. "Go to your cabin please and practice the meditation techniques we worked on this morning."

The protest was immediate. "Aw, Qui-Gon - "

"Anakin … " He was so weary …

"But, Qui-Gon - !"

Delian unexpectedly stepped in to show the Jedi an ounce of mercy for which he would be forever grateful. "Do as Qui-Gon tells you, Anakin. I'm sure Obi-Wan mentioned how important it is to listen to your master." When Anakin hesitated still, dragging his small foot across the decking, the Corellian's tone sharpened, though not unkindly. "Move it, shorty," she commanded, allowing no room for disagreement. Anakin frowned but stumped off to his cabin, mumbling to himself.

"Thank you," Qui-Gon said softly, feeling wretched at dismissing the boy and yet grateful for the reprieve.

Delian shrugged noncommittally, a blonde curl wrapped around her finger tightly. She released the strands and immediately twisted them back up, the only sign of nervousness other than her random and restless pacing she had shown around Qui-Gon thus far.

"It wasn't for you," she said bluntly. "I like the kid, but he was starting to get on my nerves." The smallest smile graced her wan features, undercutting her brusque words. "I'm just not in the mood for enthusiasm right now," she admitted. "You know?"

He did. It was hard to do anything but think about Obi-Wan and wonder how he was. "I'm getting too old for this," he murmured, feeling the bands of stress winding around his broad shoulders.

Delian misunderstood his comments, thinking the Jedi was referring to Anakin's slow progress with a lightsaber. "I'm sure it's not easy keeping after them day after day," she demurred agreeably, "and Kenobi probably really put you through the wringer when he was training too, huh?"

Qui-Gon considered her statement in surprise. "Obi-Wan?" He allowed a small laugh at the implication that Obi-Wan had been anything other than an eagerly obedient Padawan - for the most part. As Qui-Gon's apprentice had grown older he had formed his own opinions and interpretations of the Code, but he had remained respectfully agreeable to his Master – except for the decision Obi-Wan had made to remain behind on Tatooine.

"Force, no," Qui-Gon clarified with a small smile. "He tried so hard I don't think I ever had to repeat a lesson."

The Corellian's blonde eyebrows arched. "Really? He was such a spitfire when I … uh … borrowed him for awhile." She was immediately offended when Qui-Gon's own disbelieving expression caught her eye. "What? I needed a good mechanic." Delian smiled contemplatively, remembering her various interactions with Obi-Wan Kenobi. "And he was _**very**_ good."

"Yes, Obi-Wan has always been rather mechanically inclined," Qui-Gon muttered dryly, deeply relieved to be back on speaking terms with the pilot, with someone who was sharing just a small fraction of the tortured pain of waiting for word on Obi-Wan.

"Obi-Wan," he repeated softly. Just saying his Padawan's name aloud eased the smallest shards from the block of ice lodged in his chest, and he felt a little better, felt that maybe a tiny glimmer of hope could start to warm his chilled heart.

"So, Kenobi was a model student, huh?" Delian mused, dusky eyes clearly showing her skepticism. "I find that really hard to believe with the mouth he's got."

Qui-Gon sighed wistfully, the truth springing to his lips before he fully considered what he was admitting. "It wasn't that, really," he refuted honestly. "Obi-Wan just … " The Jedi Master paused, searching for the right words. He finally settled on a gentle, "He always tried so hard to be the perfect Padawan. He always wanted to have the right answer or know exactly what to do in any situation, and if he didn't know, if he didn't have the answer, it crushed him." Heaviness settled across his shoulders as he thought back on the awkward teenager who had come into his life when he'd been so convinced he hadn't needed anyone. Obi-Wan had very quickly proven him wrong.

"He had been rejected so many times before, he just … he couldn't bear the thought of it happening again," Qui-Gon finished quietly, glancing toward the closed door of Obi-Wan's cabin.

Delian levered herself out of her chair, tossing a darkly cynical look at the Jedi Master. "I bet he just loved that you left him behind, then, didn't he?"

"Did he say that?" Qui-Gon asked curiously, surprised that his Padawan would interpret what had happened that way when it had been Obi-Wan himself who had been responsible.

"No, Anakin did." Delian leaned against the console she'd just been sitting at and crossed her arms over her chest. "And speaking of," her brow furrowed, "I think you should talk with Anakin about the night Kenobi disappeared from Mos Espa. He really needs to get it off his chest."

Qui-Gon nodded distractedly. "Of course. And _**I**_ didn't choose to leave Obi-Wan there," he added defensively. "It was his doing. He made the arrangements to stay and work off our debt so I could get the queen of Naboo to Coruscant."

"Hm. How noble," Delian snorted, shaking her blonde head. "And look where the hell that got him."

Qui-Gon frowned at the Corellian's blatant skepticism and wondered if for her it covered some of the same guilt he was feeling. "Obi-Wan makes his own decisions; I was grateful for his assistance, even if the end result wasn't what we had anticipated."

"Really?" Delian leaned forward, looking interested despite herself. "What happened?"

The image of a leering Sith flashed before Qui-Gon's eyes, followed by a series of other memories from that horrible day: a crimson-bladed lightsaber drilling through his torso as he watched in horror. The handmaidens grieving over their dead queen. Panaka dying before his eyes as the security captain tried to take the Sith by surprise.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "We failed," he said simply.

"So you left Kenobi there to die for nothing?" Delian charged, anger sliding back into her voice.

"We had no way of knowing what the end result would be," Qui-Gon protested wearily, sinking into a chair nearby. "Staying was his doing; he arranged it without even giving me a say in the matter."

"His doing?" Delian scoffed resentfully, looking away in irritation; down the corridor, at her hands, anywhere but at him. "You don't think he blames you at all?" She shook her head disdainfully. "Then why did he ask for you when I finally found him, beaten to a pulp and worse? Why did he scream _**your**_ name and blame you for leaving him there?"

"There was nothing I could do – " Qui-Gon interrupted frostily, her words gnawing at him. "Obi-Wan understood the risk – "

Delian shook her head, short blonde curls spilling over her forehead. "No, Qui-Gon," she broke in shortly. "I don't think he does. At least, not anymore," she added bitterly. Her gaze sharpened, focused on him. "I told him once that he was property to be bought or sold, told him he would probably _**rot**_ on Tatooine. But I'm not the one he hates, Jinn." A chilly half-smile slid across the Corellian's expression, and Qui-Gon shivered at the cold words that she uttered calmly as she strode out of the hold:

"You are."

oooooooooo

_As they took his soul they stole his pride…_

oooooooooo

Obi-Wan was awake.

At one time, Qui-Gon would have known this through the training bond they'd shared as Master and Padawan, but that bond had been severed when Qui-Gon's horrid impalement at the hands of the Sith had nearly killed the Jedi Master. Now there was silence where he used to feel Obi-Wan's Signature in the Force and sense the thoughts and feelings the Padawan either chose to share or couldn't help sharing, depending on the situation.

Now, there was only silence where the Bond had been, but Qui-Gon still knew that his Padawan was awake.

Qui-Gon knew this because he could hear him screaming.

He was still being refused access to Obi-Wan's cabin and though Qui-Gon wanted to barrel past all in his way to see his Padawan, Delian's words - _**you're**__ the one he hates _– and his own guilt at allowing his Padawan to remain behind ate at him and kept him from defying the Healer's orders. When he closed his eyes, Marjhan's final shocked expression drifted through his mind, adding to his shame and remorse.

Qui-Gon bit his lip, rolled onto his side, and tried to shut out Obi-Wan's scorching cries.

Finally he could stand it no longer, the words echoing in his ears but not his mind where the Bond used to be; he dressed quickly and threw on his robe, but didn't bother scrabbling for the tie for his hair. He strode down the corridor to Obi-Wan's cabin, palming the door controls and pushing past the objecting Healer at Obi-Wan's bedside without a word.

"Master Jinn, please," the man protested. "You'll just agitate him. I've been ordered not to let you see him!"

Qui-Gon ignored him, though the Healer's curious words registered in his brain as something he needed to look into later. For now, all of his attention was focused on the pathetic figure huddled on the bed, wide-eyed and anguished despite the Healer's continued attempts to pacify him. Obi-Wan's mouth was trembling, open wide enough for his frenzied shrieks to slide past his lips. Qui-Gon hadn't been able to make out the words from his cabin, and he fervently wished he hadn't heard them now as he had little doubt as to whom his Padawan was referring to, especially after Delian's pointed words.

"_I hate him!"_ Over and over, unforgiving and anguished. _"I hate him!"_

Qui-Gon approached the bed quietly but without hesitation, the Healer trailing him anxiously without stopping him; he had probably realized that _**something**_ had to be done to calm Obi-Wan down, and none of his previous efforts had met any success.

"Oh, Force. Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon sighed painfully, surveying the wretched young man. Gently the Jedi Master undid the restraints intended to keep Obi-Wan from harming himself, and tenderly, trembling as his nerves continued their unappreciated effort to see how tightly they could stretch his control before it snapped completely, summoned what healing through the Force that he could muster to send to his Padawan's abraded wrists where the restraints had rubbed the reddened skin raw as Obi-Wan had struggled against them. His large hands easily encircled the thin wrists in his grasp, and as soon as he touched the Padawan's hands, Obi-Wan ceased his mindless screaming, falling eerily silent as he shakily turned dull grey eyes to him. Qui-Gon lovingly cupped the side of his ashen face gently, using the corner of his robe to wipe the crimson blood from Obi-Wan's mouth and chin from where the Padawan had bitten into his bottom lip.

Receiving no opposition from his shuddering Padawan nor the nervously hovering Healer, Qui-Gon carefully eased his stiff frame onto the narrow bed next to Obi-Wan. He had always towered over his Padawan, and this fact was blatantly obvious as he gathered Obi-Wan's emaciated frame into his large arms.

"_Shhh, _hush_,_" he murmured soothingly, pulling Obi-Wan against his chest. "I'm here, Obi-Wan. I'm here. _Shhh_," He repeated this litany above Obi-Wan's hitching breaths, ignoring the way his heart struggled to keep from shattering at the damage that had been done to his Padawan. He rocked his apprentice as gently as if he were a child, ignoring the pain the movement set off in his midsection, slowly carding his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair as he tried not to aggravate Obi-Wan's numerous injuries.

After a short time Obi-Wan calmed, still leaning into him but twitching within the circle of his arms and Qui-Gon could tell that the apprentice's raging emotions were warring within him.

"What is it, little one?" he asked calmly, never ceasing the movement of his fingers against Obi-Wan's scalp, bumping over slowly healing scabs buried beneath thick ginger hair. Obi-Wan hesitated, his pulse thudding against Qui-Gon where the Jedi Master had curled the apprentice into his arms, the frantic rhythm betraying the lack of emotion in Obi-Wan's hoarse voice.

"You died," he whispered finally, "you died and you left me … they took my memories … _sold me _… and you left me to _**her**_… "

"No, Obi-Wan, no," the Jedi Master murmured, his warm breath stirring the long strands spilling over Obi-Wan's forehead. "I didn't die. I'm here. I'm right here with you."

"I can't _**feel**_ you," Obi-Wan choked sorrowfully, his thin frame quavering. He sounded so lost, so hopeless.

"I know," Qui-Gon soothed. "I know and I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I came for you as soon as I could."

Obi-Wan stayed silent, his bony fingers spasming restlessly against Qui-Gon's arm where he clasped Qui-Gon's robe sleeve tightly. Qui-Gon could feel him trembling, and he surmised quickly and painfully what was troubling his Padawan – after all, he'd been shouting it when Qui-Gon had entered his cabin.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's mouth tilted up into a rueful smile that brimmed with the heartache he felt. "It's okay. You can say it," he prodded gently. "You can say it, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan looked up at him from the enclosed circle of his arms. His eyes were red-rimmed from tears that were sliding silently down his bruised cheekbones and his pained gaze locked onto Qui-Gon's face; the Jedi Master was absolutely still, awaiting his Padawan's words.

"I hate you," Obi-Wan finally whispered softly, his weary head dropping back to his chest exhaustedly. Qui-Gon immediately resumed threading through the young's man hair as Obi-Wan breathed again, "I _**hate**_ you."

"I know, little one," Qui-Gon murmured, feeling helplessness creep back into his soul.

Very, very gently he rested his cheek on Obi-Wan's hair and sighing, he gripped Obi-Wan's shuddering body tightly, rocking and soothing. "I know."

OOOOOOOOOO

_Lyrics for 'Cast No Shadow' belong to Oasis._


	29. the prodigal son is too late

Thanks very much to continuing and new readers, and thanks especially to those who are able to take a minute to review. You make my day and help feed the Muse with your comments and creativity.

DarkFoxxx - I have no idea why so many authors love to torture poor Obi-Wan... for myself, I guess it's the potential for angst, a little h/c, and shirtless Ewan. Mostly the angst, though. And he gets off easier in this fic than the other one I'm working on, Unwelcome Houseguest - he's only minimally subjected to Anakin in this story; in the other one he has to LIVE with him. Torture, indeed. :D

OOOOOOOOOO

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty-six: the prodigal son is too late

Warm, soothing, forgiving, and healing, the comforting rays of the morning sun rising on Coruscant streamed unimpeded through the wide picture windows of the apartment within the Jedi Temple that Qui-Gon Jinn shared with his young apprentice Anakin Skywalker.

Qui-Gon stood near the common room window, eyes closed peacefully, feeling the caress of sunlight steal across his lined features as he simply enjoyed being alive. He was feeling better today than he had in many months, and he was determined not to let the morning slip away without looking in on his former Padawan. Anakin would be in class for awhile yet, and Qui-Gon had decided to use the time chatting with Obi-Wan in the Healer's Ward.

Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon sighed deeply as he considered the young Jedi. He was proud of Obi-Wan as the Padawan steadily continued his rapid recovery from the numerous injuries he had sustained on Tatooine during the unfortunate ordeal he had endured after being sold as a slave to a local moisture farmer; the moisture farmer's wife, Marjhan, had not been kind to Obi-Wan - to put it minimally - and it had been several days since Qui-Gon and Delian had rescued Obi-Wan before Qui-Gon had felt like he could allow even a small glimmer of hope that his then-Padawan would pull through.

Much to the relief of the Jedi, Obi-Wan did pull through, and his recovery was astounding even his dedicated team of Healers. Qui-Gon hadn't let a day go by since Obi-Wan's retrieval without telling the young man how proud he was of him, and though the initial rebuilding of their lapsed relationship had been slow, their friendship was now stronger than before, to Qui-Gon's immense satisfaction.

Frowning, Qui-Gon winced as something _bumped_ into his side, just a quick jostle, but when he opened his eyes to glance down, there was nothing there.

Of course, it could be the twinge that he himself was still feeling now and then from his own injury: a lightsaber through the torso courtesy of an unknown Sith warrior. Qui-Gon stretched gingerly, feeling the sting lessen slowly. Deciding it was time to leave, he carefully collected his robe and palmed the door closed behind him.

Qui-Gon walked quietly to the Healer's Ward, the uncomfortable _jostling_ returning and increasing suddenly – he may have to have a Healer look at his side while he was sitting with Obi-Wan, he realized. Qui-Gon pressed his elbow against his ribcage, hoping the firm pressure would ease his discomfort even a little, and quickened his pace through the deserted Temple corridors.

Tired and silent, Obi-Wan was sitting up in bed when the Jedi Master entered, a wan smile pasted across his pale face at the arrival of his visitor. The young Jedi looked exhausted, but he continued to heal and all visible reminders of his unfortunate extended stay on Tatooine had dissipated as the days passed. The mental scars were healing a little more slowly, but Obi-Wan tackled the diminishing setbacks head on with his normal wry smile and grace, and he no longer needed to be sedated to sleep comfortably.

Qui-Gon awkwardly settled himself in the well-worn chair next to Obi-Wan's bedside, smiling warmly at his former apprentice. "And how are you feeling this morning, young one?"

Obi-Wan's lips twisted thoughtfully as he considered the question, and he hesitantly raised his arms over his head in a careful stretch.

"A little sore," he reported pensively, "but all right. Better every day." He looked his old master over with critical grey eyes. "How about you, Master Qui-Gon? And how is Anakin progressing in his studies?"

"He's doing very well," Qui-Gon answered proudly, always eager to talk about his new Padawan. To have _**two**_ such gifted padawans in a row was rare indeed, and he'd been blessed to have them. "Top of his class in Astrophysics, of course."

Obi-Wan nodded approvingly. "I had thought he would be. You did the right thing, Qui-Gon, bringing him to the Temple. It wouldn't have been safe to leave him behind in Mos Espa," he added, and the gravity in his tone made Qui-Gon realize that Obi-Wan had been thinking his words over very carefully, probably for some time.

"I know," Qui-Gon sighed, leaning to the side in an attempt to alleviate the _throbbing_ in his side. "I couldn't just leave him behind, not after testing his midichlorian count. Though I am sorry for everything you had to go through to bring him here."

"It was the will of the Force," Obi-Wan quoted sagely, unperturbed by the reminder of his recent ordeal. "And look where it has brought us: you are now the Master of the Chosen One, and I … well, I will soon have my own assignments to carry out." The thought seemed to please the young Jedi as he leaned tiredly back against his multitude of pillows.

"Your Trials are approaching; soon you shall be a Jedi Knight," Qui-Gon affirmed warmly. "It's what you always wanted, young one."

"It is. And it wouldn't have been possible without you choosing me all of those years ago to be your Padawan-learner," Obi-Wan replied gratefully. "I'll never be able to thank you enough you for that, for taking the chance on training me."

Qui-Gon smiled affectionately. "You were worth every grey hair; I'm very proud of you."

"I shall always love you as a father," Obi-Wan murmured solemnly, grey eyes serious as he regarded his former Master.

"Really? And you thought you hated me after Tatooine," Qui-Gon teased, amused by the somewhat embarrassed flush that stole across Obi-Wan's thin face.

"You must admit I was under quite a lot of stress when you rescued me," Obi-Wan protested softly. "I didn't know what I was saying."

"Of course, of course," Qui-Gon soothed, laying a calming hand on Obi-Wan's arm to show no offense was taken. "I know that you didn't mean it." The _bumping_ against Qui-Gon's side intensified, and Obi-Wan's expression grew worried.

"Qui-Gon?"

To his surprised dismay, Qui-Gon unexpectedly found that he couldn't speak, couldn't respond to the young Jedi – the jostling was now so distracting, it was pulling his thoughts away whether he wanted to focus or not …

"Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan said again, more insistently, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes, trying to focus on what Obi-Wan was saying …

… _if he could just __**listen**__ … _

… and as he listened Obi-Wan's gentle and loving voice became a shrill scream:

"_**Qui-Gon!"**_

… _if he could just __**focus **__…_

… and when he opened his gritty eyes he realized abruptly that he was still aboard the Council ship on its way to Coruscant, sharing Obi-Wan's narrow bunk where he and Obi-Wan had both drifted into an uncomfortable slumber after Obi-Wan had nearly screamed himself hoarse the night before shouting his despair and hatred for his Master.

… _if he could just __**think**__ past the ache in his side _…

… and he was horrified to discover that the bumping against his side he had been feeling was Obi-Wan shoved up against him, thrashing in blind terror as his darkly bruised face turned toward Qui-Gon, etched across with an expression of fear and horror as unseeing tears streamed down his windburned cheeks.

Qui-Gon's wistful dream, his subconscious longing for the return of his healthy, whole Padawan played out in his mind's eye while he slept uneasily, evaporated quickly as Obi-Wan, battered, tormented and locked in the throes of a nightmare so unlike the pleasant and wistful reverie Qui-Gon had been experiencing, wrenched away from him, panting and shouting nonsense words interspersed with Qui-Gon's name as he struggled against the terror that wound through his confused mind.

Remembering that he had the previous evening undone the restraints keeping Obi-Wan from struggling or unintentionally hurting himself, Qui-Gon reached out a long arm and grabbed his Padawan before Obi-Wan tumbled off the bunk in his barely-conscious flailing.

"_**Qui-Gon!"**_ Obi-Wan gasped again, his arms grasping blindly for an anchor, "_**Qui-Gon!**_"

"I'm right here, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon raised his voice, still trying to soothe and calm, ignoring the unwanted moisture that streamed down his face. If only his dream could have been their reality – ! Not this horror where his once-calmly collected Padawan was locked into a fight for his very sanity.

"Obi-Wan, listen to me – stop, Obi-Wan!"

Wide and frightened eyes that looked so foreign on their owner clicked onto Qui-Gon's, frantic in their confusion and showing no signs of clarity in their clear depths.

"Qui-Gon, take me back!" his Padawan demanded. "You have to take me back!"

"Back?" Qui-Gon demanded, surprise easily surpassing his own confusion. "We're not going back, Obi-Wan – you need serious attention from the Healers – "

"No – she's waiting!" Obi-Wan panted, long ginger hair spilling into his eyes as he fought vehemently against Qui-Gon's loose grip, trying to rise. "I have to see her! I have to see her or someone else will suffer because she's waiting – _please I have to go she's waiting!_"

"Obi-Wan, calm down, there's no one here, no one is waiting," Qui-Gon placated tensely, wondering if his strongly worded mental suggestion to the Healer assigned to Obi-Wan on this trip was being received. So far, though, no welcome appearance of anyone bearing a sedative.

Obi-Wan's unfocused and terrified eyes shone with angry, confused tears. "Yes, she's waiting... the Lady," he whispered, "She's waiting for me. It's time."

Horror dawned across Qui-Gon's understanding as suddenly as the morning sun breaking the horizon. "No, Obi-Wan," he breathed achingly, "Oh, no, Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon pulled his shuddering apprentice closer within the circle of his arms, wrapping Obi-Wan's thin and taunt figure carefully to his chest. "No, she won't hurt you anymore, Padawan, I promise."

"No," Obi-Wan moaned desolately, "I have to see her." He sounded so small and tired when he added, ashamed and fatigued, "_I need her_."

"No, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon repeated, forcing his tone to be gentle and not tremble under the strain of trying to be calm. Images were crowding into his mind as Obi-Wan spoke – one particular image above the others: the surprised shock on Marjhan's face when a lightsaber cut through her, ending her life; but not, it seemed, her hold over his apprentice.

"You won't see her again, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon couldn't keep the tremor from his voice this time. "She won't hurt you any more, I promise."

"No," Obi-Wan sobbed, his struggles slowly easing as his meager strength ebbed away. "I need her." He paused, then whispered painfully, "She _**loves**_ me."

Qui-Gon's heart was breaking or someone had set off a seismic charge in his immediate vicinity; there was no other way to describe the shattering pain resounding through him – even being stabbed with a lightsaber didn't leave the echoing agony that he felt now at Obi-Wan's words, his twisted perspective on his continued torture at the hands of the woman Qui-Gon had killed.

"No, Obi-Wan, she didn't love you, Padawan … "

"She does," Obi-Wan insisted wearily, his breath hitching, his exhausted voice fading. "I know she does. She said it so many times… I know it …"

"Obi-Wan, look at what she did to you," Qui-Gon protested, unappreciated guilt gnawing at him as he waved at the dark bruising and mottled puncture marks along Obi-Wan's slender arms.

Obi-Wan shook his head stubbornly, his watery eyes shining. "She had to," he whispered, his explanation ringing with the conviction of truth. "I made her. I made her do these things because I wouldn't listen. I never listened … "

The Healer finally arrived, blinking sleepily, and Qui-Gon shot him a dirty look that was supposed to somehow assuage the heavy mantle of remorse that had settled over the Jedi Master. It didn't, and Qui-Gon's misery increased tenfold as the Healer gently ignored Obi-Wan's protests and administered a sedative that quickly had the young Jedi sliding back into a restless but heavy slumber.

"I think you should return to your room, Master Jinn," the Healer instructed – Qui-Gon hadn't yet caught his name despite the fact they'd been on the same ship for over a day now. Qui-Gon knew it wasn't just a suggestion and the guilt that had started to encroach on his mind grew as he wondered at the directive.

Was it possible the Council knew somehow that Qui-Gon had murdered Marjhan? The Jedi Master wasn't so foolish as to think there wouldn't be a reprimand or worse if the Jedi Council had found out what he'd done, and the horrifying thought struck him that maybe they would keep him from training Anakin if they learned the full extent of what had happened on Tatooine. He couldn't allow that to happen. He had been through so much to rescue Anakin!

_Slow down. You're getting ahead of yourself._

Still, the Healer was eyeing him unpleasantly. "We'll be arriving on Coruscant very shortly, Master Jinn," the man said. "You should get your things together and assemble the other passengers if you would. I'll prepare Padawan Kenobi to be moved."

Qui-Gon nodded uncomfortably and set quickly about packing up the few things in his cabin and waking Delian and Anakin, while all the while his discomfort and apprehension grew, mixing with his dismayed revulsion over Obi-Wan's garbled words. The Living Force seemed so eerily silent in the face of his mounting worry, and Qui-Gon was not reassured when their vessel finally landed in the Temple hangar and he discovered a small group of very stern Council members awaiting their arrival along with the Healers who were being assigned to Obi-Wan.

_They know._

But it wasn't until he saw the uncomprehending and immeasurable sadness in Yoda's large eyes as he held out a clawed hand for Qui-Gon's lightsaber that Qui-Gon's dread finally congealed in the pit of his stomach, and as he unclipped the weapon from his belt and handed it to the small Jedi he was grateful Obi-Wan had been sedated and didn't have to see this.

"Obi-Wan needs me," he whispered to his former master, kneeling unashamedly at the small Council member's level. "Anakin needs me."

"A Master who cannot control himself, they do not need," Yoda said gravely, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. "Much to discuss, we have."

OOOOOOOOOO


	30. we all fall down

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty-seven: we all fall down

_She felt free, the biting chill of early morning air getting under her senses and shaking the last vestiges of sleep from her mind and body. Kest, it was cold, but she was so pleased to be standing here outside her grandmother's home, watching the last of the morning stars fade away in the slow sunrise. _

_Delian stood quietly, unusual for the excitable and often impetuous Corellian. She would stay here with her clan; though she bitterly rued leaving her parents behind, a life of wandering was not what she wanted for herself. If her parents chose that for themselves, well, fine for them. They could visit worlds where no one else would voluntarily go, helping and healing and doing whatever it was they did. How they could leave __**this,**__ the beauty of Corellia, for that mess Coruscant, Delian didn't know or care. All she knew was that she was going to make her own path. __**She**__ would stay here._

_Delian watched the sky lighten, the sadness in her heart at leaving her parents ebbing away as the sun warmed her skin. They were happy doing what they loved to do. Now it was her turn to be happy._

_The door closed softly behind her and Delian turned a bright smile to her grandmother as the old woman approached her slowly. _

"_Good morning," Delian murmured cheerfully, her voice hushed in reverence for the beauty of the slowly-rising sun. _

"_Good morning, child," her grandmother returned softly, settling next to her granddaughter and placing a warm hand on Delian's arm. "What are you doing up so early?"_

_Delian shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. I keep thinking about being here, and how exciting it's going to be." She sensed her grandmother's mood shift at her words, a tense anxiety that descended somberly over them. Delian felt her own chest tighten in response and a thick dread filled her ears with a rushing noise that almost obscured her grandmother's next words. _

"_Delian, sweetheart, there's something I need to tell you … "_

She awoke slowly; not with a startled gasp of breath or a scream, but Delian still found her chest was heaving as she pushed herself into a seated position on the bed.

_Offworlder, _her grandmother had called her gently.

She had left Corellia that day.

Delian dropped her head into her hands, digging her knuckles into her eyes tiredly. Maybe she would see if there was any change in Kenobi's condition - the Jedi Healers here at the Temple had taken one look at him and carted him off to their medcenter - the Healer's Wing - and though Delian had been to see him there a few times already, there was little else she could do for him. The Healers had decided the best thing for Kenobi was to keep him sedated and asleep while they worked through the damage. Though they did their best to appear calm, Delian was apprehensively certain she detected a resignation with the way they treated Kenobi.

Like they knew he would never be the old Obi-Wan Kenobi ever again.

Delian wished she didn't have the same feeling.

_oooooooooo_

_Sidney told me something once_

_When he came and sat down next to me_

_He said "beware of the beautiful ones_

_Because they'll never let you rest in peace … "_

_oooooooooo_

_Obi-Wan Kenobi was bouncing on the balls of his feet as Qui-Gon, smiling, straightened the already neatly-pressed front of his apprentice's robes. _

"_I'm nervous," Obi-wan grinned cagily. "Is that normal? Is it normal to be nervous? It is, isn't it?"_

"_There is no emotion, there is the Force," Qui-Gon intoned with a smile, tugging on Obi-Wan's thin braid lightly. "Yes, of course it's normal to be nervous about your Knighting," he affirmed conspiratorially. "Just don't let Master Yoda know. He hasn't been nervous for five hundred years..."_

_Obi-Wan laughed, the easy sound slipping from his lips as his eyes sparkled. "It's a good thing you can tell me all the Jedi secrets then… "_

"_That's why I'm here," Qui-Gon nodded wryly. "Twelve years of my life devoted to keeping you out of trouble and sharing all the secrets the Council keeps from everyone. Well," the Jedi Master made a show of glancing at the wall chrono. "I think it's time to go, don't you?" _

_He guided his Padawan into the room where the others waited, proudly taking his place near the Council members at the front of the room. Master Yoda started speaking and Qui-Gon wanted to pay attention, but he found he was content to simply watch his apprentice, the young man he had helped bring to this point. _

_Eventually, familiar words grabbed his attention and he refocused eagerly. _

"_Obi-Wan Kenobi, you are hereby awarded the rank of Jedi Knight." _

_Mace Windu's warm voice carried over those assembled in the chambers: Masters, Knights, Padawans, Initiates… all gathered to witness and confirm Obi-Wan Kenobi's successful promotion to Knighthood. It had been a rocky road for Obi-Wan, but today the young man's smile gleamed in his thin face as he bowed his head to accept from Master Yoda the final words of the ceremony._

_Qui-Gon couldn't keep back the rush of pride as he watched, running a thumb along the freshly shorn Padawan braid he clutched in his large fingers. He bumped over the yellow bead and thought of the day he had woven it into Obi-Wan's ginger hair, how proud he had been, the joy shining in Obi-Wan's young eyes …_

"Qui-Gon, wake up."

The emotionless voice that roused him from his wandering daydreams belonged to an old friend of his, a fellow Jedi Master. They had trained together and they had trained Padawans together: Jaren's current Padawan was approaching her Trials and Jaren himself was considering application for a seat on the Council.

Qui-Gon's current Padawan was nearly catatonic and Qui-Gon was under suspension for "suspicious activity" - a nice way of saying that the Council hadn't finished compiling his list of crimes yet.

Qui-Gon opened his weary eyes, dreading the return to the waking world, wanting only to go back to his manufactured dreams where all was right and they were _**happy**_, at peace.

"Good morning, Jaren," he sighed softly. "How are you today?"

His old friend keyed in the code at his door and the forcefield blocking the detention area shimmered and disappeared. Qui-Gon rose from the bench he had fallen asleep on and picked up his folded robe, unfurling it carefully and sliding his arms through the long sleeves.

"Master Yoda wishes to see you," was all Jaren said, but his eyes conveyed his sorrow at the fall of his friend. Qui-Gon followed silently through the halls, eyes forward. They passed the lift that would take them to the Initiate's apartments and he thought of Anakin. They passed the open doorway to the Healer's Wing and he strained fruitlessly for a glimpse of Obi-Wan.

The air was somber in the Council chambers, though all of the seats were empty except for those belonging to Yoda and Mace Windu.

"Know, we do, about the sensitivity of young Obi-Wan's condition," Yoda informed him without preamble. "Therefore, keep this meeting private, we will."

"Thank you, Masters." Qui-Gon murmured calmly, bowing respectfully.

"You won't be thanking us when we're through," Mace interjected chidingly. "We have much to discuss."

There would be no skirting around the issue, then, no forced display of camaraderie that no one was feeling. They were here to deliver his sentence, and nothing else.

"Qui-Gon Jinn, it pains us to call you before us this morning," Mace announced quietly, firmly formal. "But your recent actions have left us no choice."

Qui-Gon forced himself to keep his attention directed at Mace, to not notice out of the corner of his eye the disappointed drooping of Yoda's long ears and the sadness lingering below the Council member's calm expression.

Mace continued, "You disobeyed a direct order to locate Master Sifo-Dyas and we are still unable to find him. I don't think I need to emphasize the severity of this situation; with the possible threat of a Sith Lord looming over us we need to ensure that every Jedi is accounted for. We cannot risk losing _**anyone**_ to the Dark. Your refusal to locate Master Sifo-Dyas may very well have jeopardized his safety."

"The closest, you were, to his last recorded location," Yoda interjected. "The best chance, you had, at finding him quickly."

"We cannot allow you to make decisions based solely on emotion, Qui-Gon." Frustration was so close to bleeding through in Mace's voice that Qui-Gon almost allowed himself to feel a certain irony at the other man's words.

"Partly our fault, this is," Yoda admitted, one clawed finger tapping idly against his chair. "Allowed you to leave the Healer's Wing before fully healed, we did, and take into consideration we did not the emotional impact of your injuries."

"Therefore," Mace leveled a severe look at Qui-Gon over his steepled fingers, "we have decided to place you on a leave of absence effective immediately. You will be leaving in the morning for the planet of your choice - somewhere you feel you'll be able to fully recuperate."

The truth slammed into Qui-Gon with a shock that almost dropped him to his knees. _They feel guilty,_ he realized. _Force, they don't know what I did … _

"Are you sure that is wise, Masters?" he managed to mumble weakly. "With the possible re-emergence of the Sith … "

"No good you are to anyone in your present condition," Yoda disagreed, not unkindly. "A brief respite, you need, to reorient yourself within the Living Force. Feel that it is far from you, we do, and know, we do also, that your center is grounded there. Distance from the Living Force, put you in danger would."

_Put me in danger, it already __**did**__,_ Qui-Gon thought faintly, a little ashamed at the relief that was slowly trickling through him, weakening his limbs with a release of the tension he had been carrying with him since his second trip to Tatooine. _They don't __**know**__._

"What about Anakin?" he asked numbly.

"We will enroll him in classes here at the Temple," Mace replied reassuringly. "He has a lot of catching up to do. If he does well, we will assign him as your Padawan once you return to the Temple."

It was better than Qui-Gon could have even hoped for and his knees felt weakly treacherous, threatening to pitch him forward at the foot of Yoda's chair. "And Obi-Wan?"

"Address young Obi-Wan, we must." Yoda's heavily-lidded eyes gazed at Qui-Gon solemnly and Qui-Gon's heart clenched in understanding; he knew that the old Jedi Master shared with him a soft spot for Obi-Wan and he perceived from Yoda's expression that what was to follow would not be pleasing nor reassuring.

"His body heals slowly, though scars will remain," Qui-Gon admitted aloud what the Council members already knew, and he struggled to keep his voice steady. Concern for Obi-Wan, yes, but also a sudden anxiety associated with the uneasy feeling that he was getting away with something. _If "getting away with it"_ _means reliving her death every minute,_ he thought tiredly.

"Runs through us deeply, concern for Obi-Wan does. Affected him terribly, what has happened to him," Yoda murmured. "Feel that a leave of absence not enough would be for him to recover."

Qui-Gon was confused. "But if I'm to be sent away, who will watch over him?"

Mace and Yoda exchanged a glance that increased Qui-Gon's anxiety tenfold. "We do not believe that a master is what Obi-Wan needs right now," Mace explained gently. "It is the decision of this Council that you are to be released as Obi-Wan's master. Padawan Kenobi will be reassigned to Bandomeer to heal and adjust to his new place within the Order."

It took a moment for the Council member's words to sink in. "Obi-Wan … is not to be a Jedi?"

"We do not feel that Obi-Wan will ever sufficiently recover from his ordeal enough to be effective as either a Jedi Knight or Master. It is for his own sake," Mace was firm. "For his own safety."

"You can't be serious!" Qui-Gon protested angrily, a churning mixture of guilt and sorrow roiling within him. "To take this from him, after everything he's already lost - it will kill him!"

"Look at him, Qui-Gon," Mace interrupted firmly, a hint of anger flashing across his face before the Jedi Master smoothly pulled his expression back into calm. "He's not well, nor can he be trusted with the lives of others. "

"I can't look at him," Qui-Gon refuted bitterly, eyes flicking down to his scuffed boots and back up quickly, "because you won't let me see him."

"Well, you'll get your chance," Mace answered grimly, "because you get to tell him of the Council's decision. We have decided it will be fitting restitution for your actions."

Qui-Gon wanted to believe he had heard wrong, that Mace and Yoda couldn't be serious. _**He**_ had tell Obi-Wan the stinging decree of the Council?

"He's too weak," Qui-Gon protested finally. "Too fragile. Now is not the time to throw the decimation of his dream at him."

"No," Mace shook his head, easily disagreeing. "He needs more than help, Qui-Gon; he needs a chance to make a better life."

"This is ridiculous!" Qui-Gon snapped, pulling his cloak around himself in preparation for stalking out of the room. He didn't want to hear any more. "I won't participate in this cruelty!"

"Force you to participate, we will not," Yoda replied, but there was a steel to his grave voice that showed Qui-Gon the small Master was not simply being kind. "Your only chance to see young Obi-Wan, this is," Yoda continued quietly. "Leaves tomorrow, your transport does and grave is Obi-Wan's condition still. Access to him for you only will be granted when you bring him news of this decision."

Anger surged through Qui-Gon suddenly and he desperately fought to force it down before the Council members sensed it. How _**dare**_ they put him in this position? They were wrong: Obi-Wan would _**not**_ gracefully accept this reassignment, this stripping away of his desire to be a Jedi. And by announcing that he had to be the one to deliver the news to the now-former Padawan, the Council indeed had chosen the punishment that would break Qui-Gon's spirit.

Sorrowfully, he knew it would break Obi-Wan as well.

oooooooooo

_And if you are gonna cry, don't cry for me_

'_cause from here on the ground, the truth I have found_

_Is we all fall down …_

oooooooooo

_He stood before her, frightened but trying not to show it, nervous apprehension biting into him painfully. Her eyes trailed over his body approvingly, and the gleam in her eyes sharpened. _

"_Strip," she commanded languidly. _

"_I'm sorry?" he asked hesitantly. _

"_This was part of the deal, little Obi-Wan, or did you forget so soon? I give you something, you give me something? Those were the terms. No backing out now, lover." She smiled. "don't make me be persuasive."_

_He paled, reaching for his shirt slowly. "Of course not, my Lady." _

_The material slid from his shoulders and Marjhan held up a hand. "Stop. Turn around."_

_Slowly he obeyed, baring his back to her and she sucked in a delighted breath. The lash lines that crossed his back intersected neatly, perfectly aligned strips of bright red set deeply in his tanned skin. "Well done," she murmured, openly admiring the wounds. _

"_I'm glad you think so," Obi-Wan sighed; the fight had left him at some point during his earlier whipping and the best he could manage were the tired words, lacking any real emotion in them. _

"_I do," she affirmed coldly, her tone icy tone warning him that he was crossing a line. "Now, continue."_

_Obi-Wan hesitantly reached for his belt, a crimson flush stealing up his neck and across his cheeks. _

"_Slowly," Marjhan interjected. "But don't make me wait."_

"_No, ma'am," Obi-Wan agreed nervously, reflexively running a hand over the hypo marks across his forearm; he knew how long Marjhan could make him wait if he didn't please her. It was hell. He slid out of his breeches and shorts and straightened before her, shifting awkwardly closer at her gesture._

"_Very nice," the Lady smiled approvingly, drifting a hand over the flat plane of his bare stomach. "You really are coming along quite well."_

_Obi-Wan knew that this particular game was designed to humiliate him and it certainly was working. "How long do you wish me to stand here?" he asked quietly. _

"_Until I'm bored with it," Marjhan replied easily. "And when I am, you'll be punished for your disrespect. You can look forward to __**that**__ while you stand there."_

_The endearing blush he sported drained from his cheeks. "That's not necessary, my Lady."_

"_Sadly, I disagree," Marjhan said, sweetly regretful. "And I would like __**you **__to choose an appropriate punishment." She held up a hand to forestall his comments. "And if I am not satisfied by the punishment you choose, I'll select a different one for you and administer your choice to someone else far less deserving. So consider carefully."_

_The glare that crossed his features showed enough of the spirit in him she so desired that she almost took him right then and there. She swallowed back the temptation but it was so difficult to keep her hands from roaming over his naked body when all was displayed for her pleasure, and she couldn't resist reaching for him. _

"_Why do you do this?" he asked, voice straining as her fingers danced over the welts across his back._

"_Why?" she smiled greedily, looking up at him, her face close enough to his stomach that she could smell him, a heady mix of sweat and soap that sent waves of warmth crashing into her. Her tongue darted out hungrily to make tiny circles over his ribcage, tasting the salty sweetness of his tan skin. Why __**not**__ give into the temptation now, she mused idly, feeling desire crawling through her body. If he was to be punished later, he could be unusable for days … _

"_Because I love you."_

From her uncomfortable chair by the Jedi's bedside, Delian watched Kenobi carefully, and wondered why he was crying in his sleep.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Obi-Wan?"

Qui-Gon knocked lightly on the doorframe to the private room in the Healer's Wing that had been granted to Obi-Wan and entered the young Jedi's room quietly. Seated in a chair near the window, Obi-Wan glanced over at him, his shadowed expression so unlike and yet so like the grim visage that had surveyed his Master as Qui-Gon set off for the small town of Mos Espa so many months ago. But where there had once been love and respect in Obi-Wan's young face, there now resided a bleak despair and barely-covered anguish.

Qui-Gon was bitterly aware of Mace standing behind his shoulder, trying to appear as if he weren't monitoring - eavesdropping - on his words to his former Padawan.

Cracked lips moved, releasing a rasping acknowledgment. "Master Qui-Gon. Master Mace."

Force, could he do this? It was tearing him apart, cutting into him like … like his blade had skewered the evil woman who had done this to his Obi-Wan.

"Obi-Wan," he tried again to speak, struggling over the words, fighting to keep his resentment at Mace and the Council from darkening his voice. He needed to talk with Obi-Wan, needed some sort of closure before the Council sent him off to do penance for a crime he would commit again in a heartbeat if necessary.

He cleared his throat, burying his emotion deep, deep below the surface. "I need to leave you for awhile, Padawan. I will be withdrawing from active service for a time."

Whatever he reaction he had expected from Obi-Wan, it certainly wasn't the quiet acceptance he received from the younger Jedi.

"Yes, Master Qui-Gon, I understand," Kenobi murmured, though his grey eyes ached as his gaze wandered back toward the window. The long fingers of his right hand wandered over to rub his left forearm absently; the hypo scars there, Qui-Gon knew, were hidden beneath the sleeve of the medcenter robes Obi-Wan wore.

"Obi-Wan, there is more," Qui-Gon forged ahead before his resolve failed him, before the stormy anguish in Obi-Wan's eyes could unravel his nerve. At one time he would have been glad for the strength of his friend Mace Windu at his back; right now he rued the other man's presence bitterly. "At this time, you are not to be assigned to a new master." He drew a deep breath. "The Council would like to reassign you to Bandomeer until further notice."

Bandomeer. The name of a planet every Initiate dreaded - being dispatched to Bandomeer meant that an Initiate had not been selected by a master for training and would spend their years of service to the Jedi as a farmer, cultivating crops and growing food for the Jedi and their various charity outreaches.

Color drained from Obi-Wan's face as the implication of Qui-Gon's words sunk into his tired mind.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, so damned politely that Qui-Gon wondered if perhaps the young man had slipped into shock. Mace stepped forward, shouldering past Qui-Gon with an unveiled warning in his eyes to be very, _**very**_ careful.

"Obi-Wan," Mace said gently, but both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan noticed that he hadn't used Obi-Wan's earned titled of Padawan, and for just a moment an instinctive glance passed between the former master and apprentice, worry thickening the air in the small room. Qui-Gon's hand settled on Obi-Wan's shoulder comfortingly but the other Jedi flinched away from his touch. Qui-Gon stepped back uneasily.

"You have experienced a lot of hardship," Mace explained, "You've been through things no one should have to endure and you cannot just bounce back from that. The Council has concurred that you need a reprieve before _**and if**_ you resume your Jedi training."

Bloodless, now, Obi-Wan's stricken face locked onto Qui-Gon's, disbelief and betrayal shining in his eyes. "_If_?" he repeated softly.

Friendly, fatherly, Mace laid a firm hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder that the young man couldn't shrug away. "We would like you to spend your time on Bandomeer meditating, and considering whether or not the path of a Jedi is still one you would choose to follow. In one year, the Council will reassess your merit to resume your former position as Padawan, but until that time you will perform light duties on Bandomeer and attend sessions with soul healers there."

Qui-Gon shifted edgily, unhappily angry as he realized that Mace was giving Obi-Wan a kernel of hope the Council had no intention of following through on - they would not reinstitute Obi-Wan's Jedi training. Obi-Wan would stay on Bandomeer.

"I … " Obi-Wan trailed off, uncertain, but his guard was down enough that Qui-Gon could see the moisture building in his eyes and the Master's throat clenched tightly.

"We'll leave you to process this next step in your healing," Mace announced, turning to glance at his old friend. "Qui-Gon, is there anything you'd like to say to Obi-Wan before you depart in the morning?"

Qui-Gon gazed at his former Padawan, at the broken shell that stared hopelessly back at him. "There are so many things I need to say … " he trailed off helplessly. "Can we have a minute?"

Mace shook his head. "I'm sorry, Qui-Gon, no."

_**Everything **_hurt. Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan one final time and quietly pressed the tangled mess of Obi-Wan's Padawan braid, shorn off by Marjhan and taken from her body by Qui-Gon, into the former apprentice's hand. Obi-Wan glanced down at the frayed braid and back up at Qui-Gon, confused.

"Goodbye, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly.

OOOOOOOOOO

_Anakin and Obi-Wan were playing some sort of game in the common room that included many small pieces; Qui-Gon figured it was better to just avoid them altogether, as there seemed to be some dispute over the rules. Even though Obi-Wan had been promoted to Knight, he still dropped by his old master's apartments - now shared with Anakin Skywalker - as often as he was able. _

_Qui-Gon Jinn was truly happy…. _

Qui-Gon knew he was dreaming, but it was so much more pleasant here.

oooooooooo

_But her eyes shouldn't have blurred my vision _

_I know that she, oh she,Was a beauty queenAnd if you are gonna cry, don't cry for meCause from here on the groundThe truth I have foundIs we all fall downYes we all fall down_"Beauty Queen," Ben's Brother

oooooooooo


	31. interlude III

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

Interlude III

Love.

The concept of love was certainly not foreign to him, though he had - when the Council was watching - preached at length about the dangers of attachment; intelligently worded reasoning detailing the peril of becoming too attached to anything or anyone when one's own focus should be on centering themselves within the Force.

The words he had said a hundred times, however, hadn't kept him from getting attached to an awkward and sad ginger-haired teenager, or a blue-eyed slip of a boy with enormous potential. It was hard to ignore the existence of love and attachment when the Living Force hummed its sweet song all around him, uniting a chorus of the multitudes, laughing joyfully in his mind. It guided his steps, helped him choose the correct path, helped him rise when he stumbled.

At least, it once had, before he had left it behind to let himself get drawn into a maelstrom of rampant emotions. Now in his mind memories wandered unchecked through the disorder, crowding his vision rather than dissipating into the warmth of the peace of the Force. The once quiet calm was distorted with crying, pleading voices, refusing to be silenced, threatening to overwhelm him… it was so, so _**loud**_.

Qui-Gon Jinn blinked wearily, resting his forehead on his palm. It seemed like so long ago now, though he couldn't recall if it had even been a year since he had left Obi-Wan and Anakin on Tatooine. Finally he had found both of them again, finally they could start to heal … but, no. They were to be separated again, per the Council's mandate. For their own good, of course.

He had tried to get around it. The Council had offered him his choice of the planet he was to take his forced leave of absence on, but he had learned - as he'd expected - that apparently "his choice" meant any planet but Coruscant (where he could watch over Anakin) or Bandomeer (where he could watch over Obi-Wan). In the end and on a whim he had selected Naboo: remote and beautiful, and he felt as if it were calling to him amidst the chaos in his mind. He would go to Naboo, he would rest and heal, and he would leave behind two Padawans struggling to find their place.

He had learned over the years that love was difficult to evade, difficult to avoid even when his "family" was limited to other Jedi. He had trained several apprentices, and he loved them as though they were his own children. The Council disapproved, but he didn't much care. How they could _**not**_ understand how easy, how warm and gratifying, how _**right**_ it was to love?

But tonight, the love he had allowed himself to feel was punishing him.

His heart was breaking.

In just a short time, the three of them would be scattered across the galaxy: one tired Jedi Master, one scared little boy, one broken Padawan; all on their own to pick up the devastated pieces.

Qui-Gon lifted his head, looking wearily out the large window in his common room. Soon morning would break across the horizon and it would be time for him to depart. In a short time he would set foot on Naboo … the place where this had all begun.

It wouldn't be much longer, and he could rest.

Not much longer at all.


	32. you run away

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty-eight: you run away 

oooooooooo

_You run away. You could turn and stay, but you run away from me._

oooooooooo

The morning had come.

Today, he would leave for Naboo alone, to rest, to refocus. To spend an enforced exile in solitude trying to re-center deep within the warmth of the Living Force. To remember who he was and what he stood for.

To try and forget _her_.

Obi-Wan would depart for Bandomeer this afternoon after the Council had quietly but yet unbeknownst to him crushed the Padawan's dreams of being a Jedi Knight, telling the battered young man gently that he too needed time to rest and refocus, but choosing not to mention that they felt he would never again rise to the level of a Jedi; that Obi-Wan was too wounded, too scarred, too _fragile_ to be trusted with the lives of others. Qui-Gon felt it was cruel to disillusion Obi-Wan, but he was again being denied access to his former apprentice - and what would he say to the young man, anyway? Obi-Wan _**was**_ fragile, he _**did**_ need to heal, to try and pick up the jagged shards left of his life.

He also needed to try and forget _her_.

Qui-Gon folded the chestnut robe too small for him and settled it gently into his duffel bag; he was taking only the most minimal effects to Naboo and the only items even remotely personal he had chosen were a carved japor snippet Anakin had given him and the robe he had found tucked away in their apartments that still faintly smelled like his former Padawan. He would take those things, and release all other attachments.

Or so he was telling himself.

The awakening heartache of his loss clawed at him, threatening to tear gouges in the weak, hastily built barriers he had erected after discovering the Council didn't know what he'd done on Tatooine but was still sentencing him to enforced solitude. Everything he had risked, everything he had staked a claim to was being torn from his weak grasp and there was nothing he could do to pull them back to himself. No Anakin. No Obi-Wan.

Just exile.

OOOOOOOOOO

He needed to say goodbye to Anakin, to reassure the child he would return for him soon; the boy was safely enrolled in classes here at the Temple, some remedial - like diplomacy - and some advanced based on the skills he had already acquired. Anakin would be protected by many Masters and Knights until Qui-Gon could return and claim him as his own Padawan, and the thought of being the sole Master of the precocious child brought Qui-Gon a warmth he knew would help to carry him through long months on Naboo. He had sacrificed much to bring Anakin this far; he would not let his destiny as Master to the Chosen One - nor Anakin's destiny _**as**_ the Chosen One - go unfulfilled.

And, regrettably, he knew he ought to also bid goodbye - and perhaps a thank you - to Delian. Qui-Gon's tired brow furrowed as he realized that he wasn't certain what the Corellian had planned, and he felt in small part that the pilot was his responsibility as she had accompanied him from Tatooine. He wondered if anyone had bothered to see what Delian wanted to do now that Obi-Wan was being … relocated … and he supposed that _**he**_ should ask, but he wasn't looking forward to any discussions with the surly Corellian. They had shared a few tense moments of bonding over their mutual worry for Obi-Wan, but although Qui-Gon had a natural and easy rapport with almost every individual he encountered, he and Delian had started off poorly and their relationship had not improved overmuch amidst the strain of the past several days. In truth, he was having a hard time blaming her: she hated him for the same reasons he hated himself.

After some searching, he found her sitting at a desk in the Archives, her blonde curls softly backlit by the Archives' calm blue lighting. Her dusky eyes glanced up from the monitor as his shadow crossed into her light, and a look that was a curious mixture of fear and disgust flashed across her face as she took in the tall Jedi Master.

"Kenobi?" she asked immediately, and Qui-Gon realized the reason for her fear.

"No change that I have been informed of," he admitted quietly.

Delian nodded. "I'll stop in to see him later, before he leaves," she said, and Qui-Gon felt a flash of jealousy stab through him he couldn't quite ignore: it seemed not _**everyone**_ was restricted from seeing his former Padawan.

To distract himself from an uncharacteristic snarl of anger that was slowly building in his midsection, Qui-Gon brought himself back to the reason he had sought the Corellian out.

"I was wondering what you were planning to do now that we are all going our separate ways," he put forward, trying for a conciliatory tone despite his undeserved resentment toward the Corellian. "Do you need transport back to Tatooine?"

She didn't answer, and Qui-Gon could see she was deep in thought, twisting one of the earrings adorning her left ear. Without directly answering his question, she gestured absently toward the screen displaying the records she had been perusing. Qui-Gon glanced at the names in some confusion but offered helpfully,

"They are both excellent Healers, but have been assigned away from the Temple for many years. Do you know them?"

Delian leaned away from the desk as she rubbed her eyes and blinked furiously in the manner of someone who had spent too long staring at a monitor without pausing to refocus their strained vision every now and then. "They're my parents," she admitted, her lackluster tone curiously devoid of any warmth or pride.

Qui-Gon stared at the pilot, bemused but surveying her with new thoughtfulness. "You have Elayna's eyes," he murmured quietly. "I see it now."

"Yeah, whatever," Delian grumbled, but Qui-Gon saw the softening around her gaze, the merest shift in her aura that indicated she was pleased in some small way by his comment.

"Have you ever had your midichlorian count tested?" Qui-Gon asked curiously, folding his arms across his broad chest carefully. He hadn't fully recovered yet, and the pull of carrying Obi-Wan days before had strained his healing belly. "Have you thought about Jedi training for yourself?" he suggested, not overly enthused by the thought of running into Delian day after day at the Temple once he returned but feeling somehow that it would be better for the galaxy as a whole if the Corellian confined somewhere … secure.

"Yoda insisted I have my count tested after I got here," Delian answered dryly, cautiously venturing to add, "I guess it's pretty high."

"Really?" Qui-Gon hadn't sensed much of the Force in her at all, though admittedly his connection to the Living Force had been skewed for some time now.

"Apparently, yeah." Delian looked up at him a little shyly, eyes wide, nervousness jumping in her gaze. "I thought … " She hesitated before admitting quietly, "I thought I would stay at the Temple for awhile, if that's okay; maybe learn some useful Jedi stuff and whatever."

Qui-Gon blinked. She had surprised him again. "Really?" he repeated dumbly, feeling somehow that the idea of Delian as a Jedi Knight was more than even he could take.

"Hell, no!" Delian grinned, her face contorted mid-sentence as she started laughing, small giggles that turned into outright chuckles as she was clearly amused by his response. "I can think of a _**million**_ better things to do than waste my afternoons here meditating and being all Jedi-y."

"So, your midichlorian count?" Qui-Gon asked tiredly, fighting the urge to drop his head into his hands and sob, just a little.

"Safely non-existent," she grinned fiercely. "Or at least low enough not to matter."

Qui-Gon sighed and rubbed at his forehead ruefully. "I can see why Obi-Wan likes you," he smiled, slightly grudgingly, allowing her the point for leading him on so easily. "You share a similar sense of humor. Actually," he added hesitantly, "I was wondering if you could take a message to him for me."

"Take it yourself," Delian snapped, all traces of humor immediately disappearing as she settled back into an uncomfortable tension at the mention of Obi-Wan. "For whatever reason, he actually misses you."

"I have been restricted from seeing him … again," Qui-Gon explained unhappily. "I didn't realize that _**anyone**_ nonessential was being permitted to see him," he added sharply, a hint of his earlier jealousy reasserting itself firmly in his chest and lodging uncomfortably tightly in his throat.

"Maybe _**I'm**_ not _nonessential_," Delian replied, allowing smugness to slide into her tone but not hiding the anger undercutting her words. "After all, I'm pretty sure I went straight back for Kenobi without dragging my ass about it - and saved his life, too," she added fiercely. "And _**I'm**_ not even the one charged with protecting him."

This was how conversations between them typically went. Qui-Gon lifted a hand to indicate she need say no more, but the Corellian forged ahead, her eyes narrowing as she gazed at him thoughtfully. "You know, I've been reading up on you too, Master Jinn; and do you know what I've found?"

"I can't even begin to imagine," Qui-Gon said tiredly, moving his weight from foot to foot, wondering how un-Jedi-like it would be to turn and walk away. "Nothing good, I'm sure."

Delian shook her blonde curls, sinking deeper into her chair. "Not quite. I've been reading about a man who fights for what he believes in. A man who protects the people he's entrusted with. And I've been wondering if I've been wrong, if perhaps you're _**not**_ the man I think you are. Perhaps you're _**not**_ a weak, spineless, self-serving prick who throws away a perfectly good apprentice because he thinks someone better has come along."

"That's not fair," Qui-Gon protested softly, brushing off the way each word she uttered stung at a quiet part of his soul he wasn't interested in acknowledging. He shifted uneasily.

"So these reports say," Delian agreed with a nod. "Apparently you're a hero. A defender of the weak and helpless. Loyal to a fault. Honorable. Just."

Qui-Gon shook his head, his voice very, very soft when he answered.

"I'm not that man anymore," he whispered, hearing the hum of his own lightsaber in the back of his mind, the slight gasp that escaped _that woman_ as he sliced her in half.

Delian pushed herself away from the desk and stood, brushing her palms against her thighs in a gesture that made Qui-Gon think absently that she was wiping her hands clean of him.

"That's too bad." Her dusky gaze settled on his face, challenging him. "Because as much as I hate to admit it, that's the man that Kenobi needs to pull him back."

"I can't help him," Qui-Gon protested immediately. "I'm not supposed to see him." He shook his head, feeling useless and unfamiliar tears crawling into the corners of his eyes. "There's nothing I can do for Obi-Wan now."

"Then you're exactly the man I think you are," Delian replied. She snapped off the monitor, turned her back on him, and left the Archives.

oooooooooo

_I'll give you something you can cry about; one thing you should try it out_

_Hold a mirror shoulder high when you're older, look you in the eye. _

oooooooooo

OOOOOOOOOO

She went to check on Obi-Wan then, plodding down the now-familiar path through the Healer's Wing, feeling the loneliness weigh on her soul as Qui-Gon's question tugged at her mind. What _**was**_she going to do next? See if she could get passage back to Tatooine? Return to her old life? Her simple, uncluttered, Kenobi-free existence …

Delian swallowed hard. She would think about that later.

He was in bed, as usual, staring at the ceiling. Tears snagged in her eyes as she _willed_ him to show some sign of life, some hint that the old Kenobi was still there somewhere, just waiting for right moment to smile again.

But he didn't smile. Not anymore.

"Hey, darlin'," Delian announced her presence quietly, waiting until he turned dull eyes to her before entering the room all the way; she had only surprised him once and she was determined not to do it again. It was …frightening … when he was startled. _I should have shot that bitch when I had the chance,_ Delian thought, not for the first time.

He nodded to acknowledge her presence and she moved to stand by the bedside, wanting to reach for him but holding back. He didn't say anything, so finally to break the silence - and with a small amount of hopefulness, Delian admitted - she ventured,

"I've been trying to decide what to do now that we're all … back here," she said slowly. "I guess I could go home… " Delian stole a glance at him but he said nothing, just watched her from beneath the shaggy veil of copper-streaked ginger that fell across his eyes. No protestations that she should stay, but no affirming that she should go, either. There was just … nothing.

Delian bit her lip, hard, against the surge of emotion crashing into her. _Please be whole again, _she wished fervently, appealing to - well, _**anyone**_ listening - but mostly to the man across from her.

"Everyone is leaving," Kenobi said softly, and a tiny glimpse of hopefulness crept across his shadowed features. "So I should go back, too."

"Excuse me?" Delian said, hoping she had misheard him but feeling the cold wash of dread sweep over her, pulling the blood from her face and filling her with tense anxiety.

His face was open, honest and pleading turned toward her. "I need to go back home, Delian, back to Tatooine." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I have work to do."

Anger roared into Delian and she had to turn away to keep from snapping at him. "You can't go back, Kenobi," she bit out, struggling to keep her voice under control. "You're _**not**_ going back. _**Ever**_."

"She needs me," Obi-Wan murmured, lifting a scarred hand to brush the hair back from his eyes, now shining an unstable grey in the warm light of his room. Delian could see the shift in him; a building of unacknowledged emotion trapped in an unbalanced vessel.

"Well," she said slowly, knowing she was close to spitting the words out and fighting to stay steady herself. "Other people need you now, sweetheart. You need to refocus _**here**_."

Again the hopefulness in his eyes, and though just moments before she had been praying for some emotion from him, Delian quickly found that she hated this earnestness from him: the things he set his hopes on were not good.

"Qui-Gon?" he asked softly.

Why the hell had she come? Clearly this was a bad idea. "No, not Qui-Gon," she ground out, almost choking on the name of a man she despised. "Qui-Gon is … busy."

"He's leaving me," Obi-Wan sighed. "Again." And it was _**almost**_ Kenobi who said quietly, steadier and a little stronger as his sad eyes locked onto hers, "I watched him walk away, and it was because of me. I wasn't good enough. And now … "

"And now?" Delian prompted, leaning a hip against the bed frame, worrying at his sudden surge of emotion, wondering if she should call the Healers ...

"And now look at me!" Kenobi shot back angrily, waving a hand toward himself. "I _**deserve**_ to be sent away! Why would Qui-Gon want to even bother with me anymore? I've driven him off!" His anger subsided, fading away. "I deserve this." He pushed himself off the bed, limping tiredly toward the window, the strain in his expression and body evident in the stiff way he held himself upright as he glared at the city outside, frustration sending fine tremors through his slender body.

As she studied him standing at the window, Delian thought back to a time before he'd gone missing, back when he'd been full of Light. She could still see the Light shining in him, but now it slipped through from painfully ragged cracks with tattered edges. Anger, grief, shame … these were the primary facets that made up the new Obi-Wan Kenobi. She watched him drag his wounded leg across the floor as he stumbled back to the bed, the effort of standing for even such a short time painful to witness as his jaw clenched and his hands grasped at the sheets on the bed, twisting them in his long, twitching fingers.

"I deserve … " he started to repeat softly, then jerked his head away angrily, face turned away from her. Delian saw his shoulders shaking and moved closer, until her body barely grazed his in a loose embrace. If possible his rigid body got even tenser and he was trembling furiously before she could even finish reassuring him.

"Kenobi - "

"Get back," he whispered urgently, "let go _**please**_,"

She stepped backward immediately, moving around to face him. His pupils were wide, his breathing ragged; he braced his hands against the bed and dropped his head, fighting to bring his breathing under control.

"I … " he started again, breathing harder and Delian backed away a step, hating angrily that her closeness caused him greater distress now. He was shaking so hard the restraints clipped to the side of the bed were rattling, and though his teeth were clenched she swore she heard him whimpering, over and over, loud in her head and the silence in the room. Sweat rolled down his face and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He was a man who, despite his jagged efforts, was about to unravel.

Delian's fingers were reaching for the call button even as a half dozen healers flew into the room, grabbing for him as he shied away from their touch. One healer whispered soothingly as he reached out to grasp Obi-Wan's bicep, wrapping his fingers loosely around the bunched and corded muscles under his hand. Obi-Wan's mouth opened and he screamed, loud and shattering, bucking and writhing under the hands reaching for him as nonsensical pleas spilled from his lips. Delian had backed herself into the corner and she realized tears were streaming from her eyes; she jammed a fist into her mouth to keep a frightened keen from slipping out and attracting the Healer's attention to her. She needed to be where Kenobi was, as terrifying as it was to watch him fall apart.

"Where's Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan was demanding over and over, his voice hoarse and pleading, nearly swallowed up by the soothing litany of calming words the healers continued to throw at him. "I need Qui-Gon, he knows. Please don't take them, I need them … please…" Obi-Wan was getting desperate now, and Delian wondered when the proud Jedi she had met had learned how to beg so well.

"Please," Obi-Wan whispered, visibly forcing himself to speak calmly though Delian could hear the tremors in his voice, knew he was walking a very fine line of keeping his sanity. "I'll be good, I promise." His pained look turned anxious when his eyes landed on the small figure who was slowly making his way in the door; Delian knew him by sight - it was hard to forget who Yoda was. "Master Yoda," Obi-Wan scratched out desperately. "Where's Qui-Gon?"

Yoda didn't say anything, trudging quietly through the parting wave of healers as he moved toward the trembling Jedi in their midst. Still shaking, still on the edge, Obi-Wan respectfully and slowly knelt, his weak right leg sliding out from under him uncontrollably and sending him tumbling to the floor awkwardly. He sat on the floor for a moment, his face so agonized and defeated that Delian's heart twisted deep in her chest.

"Young Obi-Wan," Yoda said quietly, laying a thickly-clawed hand on Obi-Wan's arm, gazing on the apprentice with wide, sad eyes. "Young Obi-Wan," he repeated softly, and Delian knew she wasn't the only one struggling to keep from crying. Yoda glanced up, casting a pointed look at the cluster of people in the room and they slipped out obediently - all except Delian, still pressed quietly into the corner. Yoda ignored her - or maybe didn't see her - as he returned his large eyes to Obi-Wan.

"Master Yoda," Obi-Wan gasped, moisture clinging to his thick lashes as he bent his head wearily, his forehead just barely resting on the small Master's shoulder in a sight Delian found almost strange. Strangled words slid between gasps for breath, "_help me please. I'm so lost._"

Yoda's gravelly voice was barely loud enough for Delian to hear, even as she strained to catch the words. "Dear little one, so sorry we are at what happened to you has." His claws gently raked through Obi-Wan's hair, long and shaggy still, unkempt and uncared for.

Obi-Wan was crying, his hand unconsciously rubbing the gnarled mass of flesh of his right thigh as his sorrow-filled tears dripped onto Yoda's robe. "I tried to do the right thing, Master. I tried. She was too strong for me." His breath hitched at the anguished admission, his fingers digging deeper into his wounded leg, and Delian knew he was hurting himself even as she realized he _**wanted**_ to.

Yoda's hand dropped to cover Obi-Wan's fingers, stilling their unceasing movement. "Broken you may feel, Obi-Wan Kenobi, but broken you are not," he assured quietly.

Obi-Wan said nothing, still sprawled clumsily on the floor, painfully bent to rest his head on Yoda's small shoulder. Delian watched the odd pair, also silent, wondering what hope there was for Kenobi. From here she could see the deep scarring on his bare feet that would never leave him - along with many, many other reminders.

"To Bandomeer you will go," Yoda said softly. "To heal and to help."

"Shall I be a farmer, Master Yoda?" Obi-Wan asked without lifting his head, softly bitter. "Shall I be that which I had always feared I would be?"

"Help in different ways, we all do," Yoda reassured gently.

Obi-Wan stilled, lifting his head and fixing his reddened eyes on the small Council member. "Master Yoda." Yoda looked at him, and Delian was surprised at the sudden flash of trepidation that knifed through Yoda's large eyes, as if he already knew and dreaded the question that was coming even before it left Obi-Wan's dry lips.

"I will never be a Jedi, will I?"

oooooooooo

_I made a mess, who doesn't? _

_I did my best but it wasn't enough … _

oooooooooo

_You Run Away,_ Barenaked Ladies

Please review! It's very inspiring to the Muse!


	33. through the glass

TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty-nine: through the glass

_I'm looking at you through the glass, I don't know how much_

_Time has passed; all I know is that it feels like forever…_

_oooooooooo_

"I will never be a Jedi, will I?"

The old Jedi's ears drooped at the quiet certainty in Obi-Wan's question, his wizened face twisting in sorrow.

"Help in different ways, little Obi-Wan, we all do," Yoda repeated softly, and Obi-Wan's head dropped back to his chest, a strangled whimper barely cresting past his thinned lips.

The Jedi Master remained with the grieving man, stroking Obi-Wan's hair and murmuring gentle words of strength; and in the solitude of the small room allowing himself, the observer Delian imagined, far more emotion than Jedi were reputed to be allowed. Finally, Obi-Wan lifted his head and nodded tightly at the small Master and Yoda nodded in return, an encouraging smile brightening his small, sad expression.

"Meet you later at the loading dock, I will," he murmured, giving Obi-Wan's shoulder a last squeeze and hobbling out slowly, giving Delian - still pressed in the corner trying to avoid being noticed and consequently sent away - an unreadable glance. Delian waited until he had disappeared around the doorframe before inching out from the wall and back toward Kenobi, sinking down next to where Obi-Wan still sat listlessly. Feeling more exhausted than she should - Kenobi's breakdowns had that effect on her - she gently rested her slumping form against the bed frame as Kenobi lifted his head to look at her questioningly, his bloodshot eyes settling on her warily. His expression struggled for a moment before settling on tired acceptance and he gingerly shifted around uncomfortably until he was sitting beside her while still leaving a considerable amount of space between them. Delian hid a wistful sigh at the distance; the last time she had held him, she had been fighting to save his life, and the Corellian longed to replace that horrific memory with something more sweetly pleasant.

But she would take him any way she could have him. Even sitting next to his broken down shell was better than not being with him at all, and she hadn't given up on him. _**Some**_ unmentioned pricks might have though they'd found something 'better,' but Delian wasn't letting Kenobi slide away. She couldn't.

She studied him discreetly as he labored cautiously to position himself - Kest, he was thin even under the thickly warm clothes he was bundled in, and he had a shudder to his slight frame now that wouldn't quite disappear. The long sleeves of his tunic covered the multitude of puncture marks and scars riddling his arms as he braced himself carefully to swing into a slouch that would ease some of the pain still lingering in his lithe body. He gently but wearily tipped his head back against the bed, his tiredly closed eyelids covering the dull grey eyes beneath. There was nothing but agony written across his exhausted face; the life had gone out of his once laughing eyes, the creases in their corners now born from anguish rather than amusement, and the humor had long left his full mouth.

But despite his evident fatigue, Kenobi seemed to have regained some strength since Master Yoda had visited, some small flashes of the man he used to be peeking through; his aura was steadier. But he was still … off.

They said nothing for a long time, they just sat; occasionally a Healer would pad in to check on the Jedi - as Delian had expected they would after Obi-Wan's earlier outburst - but as he was calm and silent they did their work efficiently and moved on.

Delian irritably pushed down the quiet longing to reach for him. He so clearly needed comfort; she was surprised that Yoda had been able to touch him at all but she suspected that Yoda - and the despised Qui-Gon Jinn - were the closest thing to family that Kenobi had.

The Corellian traced a fingertip across the floor absently in the space between them, needing to break the resigned, desolate silence that enveloped the room.

"What for you now, Obi-Wan Kenobi?" she wondered aloud, skewing a look at his drawn face. His eyes remained closed as he answered quietly but firmly,

"I don't want to be a farmer, Delian."

"Well," she drawled, allowing a little smile into her voice, "you could stay with me. I think I still own a little piece of you."

It was the wrong thing to say: he tensed so fiercely she almost expected his white knuckles to burst from his callused skin.

"I think someone else owns a lot more of me," he murmured tightly. Before she could stutter out an apology, he switched tracks quickly, resolutely steering himself back onto less unsteady ground. "I _**need**_ to be a Jedi, Delian. It's what I'm _**meant**_ to do."

He finally opened his eyes, leveling a somber, desperate grey gaze at her with enough Light in it that she knew he was convinced of the truth of his words, that that small conviction was the one thing keeping him from completely losing his sanity.

"I don't have a choice."

A Calamari healer poked her head in through the open doorway, her husky voice thick with regret. "Obi-Wan, your departure time has been moved up; you'll be leaving for Bandomeer within the hour."

Obi-Wan sighed, a breath gusting from his lips. "I'm not surprised, after that little tantrum," he admitted wryly. "I didn't mean to, I just feel so … angry," he confessed bitterly, darting a nervous glance toward the door, trying, maybe, to keep the healers from overhearing him. "And confused. And … " another pause as he hunted for the right word, stumbling just slightly as he settled on, "fractured." He tried for a self-deprecating shrug, but Delian could see how bothered he was. "I can't control what I'm doing sometimes. Just like when … " he trailed off, a lost and wounded man who still couldn't comprehend the horrible things that had been done to him and the familiar life that had been torn away despite his best efforts.

From within his tunic, he withdrew the Padawan braid that Qui-Gon had returned to him, looking at it, almost _through_ it as he rubbed at it with his thumb. Delian wisely stayed quiet this time, just watching him work through his thoughts.

"I wanted to help," Obi-Wan finally said softly. "I wanted Master Qui-Gon to remember that he could rely on me."

Delian couldn't hold her tongue at that. "Why do you even care what that prick thinks?" she snapped in exasperation, her ire rising at the thought of her last conversation with Qui-Gon. "He's an ass."

Kenobi frowned tiredly, allowing his hands to drop loosely over his upraised knees. "No. He's … determined. Driven." He slewed a glace at her, quiet conviction in his eyes. "I wish he were here."

"After everything?" The blonde asked incredulously. "The podrace and Anakin and all that shit, you still care about him? What the hell for?"

Obi-Wan's gaze on her sharpened, a burning pinpoint of feverish light in them as he said quietly, "Yes. I still care about him." He shifted his lithe body, clenching his teeth as his wounded leg scraped across the floor, his severed braid tumbling to the floor, ignored for the moment.

"I remember … sometimes," he mumbled, "sometimes it was so dark… And the only way I could calm myself, could bring myself back was to remember that I was a Jedi. Sometimes when … _She _… came for me and I knew she was going to … t-to … " his voice ground to a stuttering halt and he snapped his mouth shut in frustration, scrubbing a pale hand across his face. Finally, more under control, he finished softly,

"I had to remember that I had a higher purpose. That I was a Jedi. That I have work to do."

Delian tilted her head, listening, imagining she was resting her head on the broad shoulder just out of her reach and that life was back to being amusedly simple, where she teased and admired him, where she could touch him without him shying away. When he was whole.

"So, the galaxy needs Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, huh?" she asked with a twist of her lips, retrieving his dropped Padawan braid from the floor and handing it back to him quietly.

"Yes," he said softly, glancing at the braid, "it does."

Silence drifted back over them until they came to take Obi-Wan away.

OOOOOOOOOO

Sometimes, he was just an ass.

Not often.

Not even frequently.

But sometimes.

And unfortunately, sometimes when it mattered the most.

To the _people_ who mattered most.

He slowed to a stop, boots skidding on the floor in a most undignified way, knowing even as he rounded the corner that he was too late.

"He's gone, isn't he?" he murmured, quietly taking in the emptiness of the room. Even filled with the tattered edges of Obi-Wan's ragged soul, the medcenter room had still breathed with the life Obi-Wan's presence brought to any place he inhabited. Wry, amused, serious - and most recently, sad.

Delian stood at the bed, straightening the sheets mechanically even though they would be stripped and replaced with clean bedding within hours. "Yes," she replied simply. "He had another breakdown so they're shipping him out early."

Qui-Gon nodded understandingly even as his heart sank. "The Council often rushes to relocate unstable Jedi for the sake of those with less training, like our Initiates and younglings," he murmured mechanically. "In the event they are unable to defend themselves against an unintentional psychic attack from an uncontrolled Jedi."

"What will happen to Kenobi?" Delian wanted to know. She knew he was being reclassified as a farmer, but what did that mean for _**his**_long term goals and plans? Kenobi was so certain he needed to be a Jedi … was there any chance of that now?

"He's being reassigned to Bandomeer," Qui-Gon explained, perhaps not knowing that she already knew. "He'll receive counseling and training from our Masters and soul healers there, and in a year, if he is well, he'll be assigned to a Jedi Master to complete his Padawan training."

It felt odd, both lying to Delian - he knew the Council had no intention of allowing Obi-Wan to finish his training - but also saying the words aloud, even if they were untrue: Obi-Wan as another Master's Padawan.

But Delian disregarded his lie easily. "No, he won't," she argued angrily. "You didn't see Yoda's face. He's not going to be a Jedi, Qui-Gon. He's done." She sighed smally, pained and heartsick at his loss. "And he knows it," she added, her shoulders slumping.

Qui-Gon put a hand on her shoulder quietly, realizing that in all this time, she hadn't given up on Obi-Wan. All this time, some small part of her had believed that the old Obi-Wan would come back somehow.

And there was, he suspected, the small fact that Delian obviously loved Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon exhaled a sigh. As did he.

"Not in the same way, I hope, because he's mine," Delian said aloud, the smallest waver in her voice betraying the wry humor in her words.

"Did I say that aloud?" Qui-Gon asked mildly, allowing a brief smile that quickly disappeared under the weight of emotion that pressed in on him.

His beloved Obi-Wan. Alone now, facing an uncertain future.

And he hadn't even said goodbye.

Sometimes, he _**was**_ an ass.

OOOOOOOOOO

Yoda was there to see him off.

Obi-Wan paused nervously at the door to the vessel assigned to Bandomeer, already stocked with empty containers waiting to be filled. A regularly scheduled trip to Bandomeer would also include Initiates who hadn't been chosen by a Master, but Obi-Wan was making this trip alone - other the Council pilot for whom he was currently waiting - because he had, essentially, been deemed too unstable to be around younglings still learning to Shield properly.

Force, he couldn't believe this was happening to him.

He tried valiantly to ignore the emotion crushing his throat and closing off his breathing until tiny pinpricks of light danced before his eyes and his head swam. He reminded himself then that he needed to breathe, he _**had**_ to breathe, he had to _**live**_.

Whether he wanted to or not.

He had the brief, shamed thought that maybe he'd be able to sneak off the ship when they stopped to refuel, and somehow find passage back to Tatooine where She waited for him. But he laughed a little, dismissively, at his foolishness. Surely by now She would have found someone else. She didn't need him.

But he didn't completely discount the idea.

"Leave the past behind now, you must."

Of course. He didn't need Her.

Or so he told himself with every breath.

"Obi-Wan."

From behind him, Yoda spoke softly, and Obi-Wan immediately felt a humiliated flush crawl across his cheeks. Because he'd had to, once he was able he'd given the Council a formal, very terse report on what had occurred on Tatooine.

Because he'd _**wanted**_ to, he'd told Master Yoda bits and pieces about his stays with both Delian and Marjhan, whatever he felt like he could manage when the Darkness wasn't too close. To his surprise, his old Master hadn't judged him, hadn't faulted his mistakes; though when his head was clear Obi-Wan could quietly admit to himself that he'd neatly glossed over many parts of his time on Tatooine. Whether or not Yoda had surmised for himself Obi-Wan's lapses into weakness, the former Padawan wasn't sure.

But whatever the old Master's personal opinions, he hadn't stopped the Council from from deciding he was unfit to be a Jedi - a decision he himself had already reached months ago, when Darkness had first laid her slender fingers across his soul and body.

"Yes, Master," he murmured obediently, knowing he was lying even as the words crossed his lips. How could he? How could he forget what had happened to him? And how could he block out _Her_ voice, whispering in his ears as he stared at the gaping opening of his ship's doorway.

_I can't do this. _

He turned an alarmed look toward Master Yoda, the words echoing in his mind wanting to slide from his frozen and shaking lips but he found he was trembling so hard he couldn't even stutter his panicked thought aloud, and _oh Force_ his damned leg was buckling under him and he was going down … !

Then moment passed.

And he was still standing.

Obi-Wan blinked heavily, the first beads of sweat sliding from his hairline down his too-warm face.

"All right, are you, little one?" Yoda asked, his small, clawed hand brushing against the back of Obi-Wan's leg gently.

_No_, Obi-Wan thought. _I'm not. How can I be?_

He forced a brave smile he didn't feel, hadn't felt in a long time. "Of course, Master" he said softly. "Just thinking about the next chapter of my life." He risked a hopeful look at Yoda. "Qui-Gon isn't coming, is he?" he asked, trying not to let hope show through in his tone. "To say goodbye, I mean." It seemed like he had wondered that so many times over the past several months, wondered when his master would come for him. He had waited in desolation, and had been disappointed time and again.

He knew even before the regret crossed Master Yoda's face that it was time to stop waiting.

_I can't do this_, he thought desperately.

_You don't have a choice_, he told himself firmly, as he had so many times before.

He _couldn't_ volunteer himself in exchange for a hyperdrive motivator.

He _couldn't_ stay on Tatooine while Qui-Gon accompanied Queen Amidala to Coruscant.

He _couldn't_ go with Delian; he needed to stay in Mos Espa until Qui-Gon returned.

He _couldn't_ take on a Sith alone.

He _couldn't_ let them take his memories.

He _couldn't_ allow himself to be sold like property.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, spots beginning to dance in front of his eyes again as his breathing sped up, his thin chest tightening.

He _couldn't_ let Her hurt anyone because of his stubborn disobedience.

He _couldn't_ not wait for Her to come with her damned hypo every night.

His chest was so tight now each breath was a wheeze. Obi-Wan put a slender hand against the doorframe, leaning heavily against it, tears crowding into his eyes.

He _couldn't_ not agree to go to Her in exchange for his memories. He _**needed**_ them.

He _couldn't_ say no to Her.

He _couldn't_ move as Her fingernails raked across his skin.

He _couldn't_ distance himself far enough as She …

Obi-Wan gently rested his forehead against the arm braced against the ship, throwing the memory aside as soon as it surfaced.

He _couldn't_ do this. But just like all those other times, he didn't have a choice.

And now he would be a farmer.

Because he didn't have a choice.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Kenobi?"

His eyes opened and he slowly lifted his head from his arm. With more politeness than he'd ever witnessed from the cocky Corellian, Obi-Wan saw Delian nod respectfully toward the old JedI standing silently near Obi-Wan. Sometime that Obi-Wan couldn't put a finger on passed between them, an understanding of sorts, and Delian smiled.

"Master Yoda," she said courteously, almost - but not quite - sketching a slight bow. Yoda offered her a small nod, a slim hint of a smile in return, and patted Obi-Wan's leg a final time.

"May the Force be with you, little one," he said softly. "Walk a dark road, you will; darker, perhaps, than the one that are your feet even now on. Guide you, the Light will, if let it you do. Strong, you must be."

A prickle of foreboding danced across Obi-Wan's skin and he nodded tightly, wondering, absently, just how much trouble he could get into as a farmer. Delian watched the old master shuffle out, then turned back to Obi-Wan with a crooked grin.

"Ready to go?" she asked simply.

OOOOOOOOOO

Qui-Gon Jinn allowed himself a comfortable stretch as he slowly walked down the landing ramp, basking in the sun's warmth, wishing it would sink into his soul and relieve the persistent chilliness there that had insisted on lingering since his ill-fated visit to a bloodstained room that had been used as Obi-Wan's punishment quarters on Tatooine.

He couldn't forget, but the beauty surrounding him helped a little - and Naboo _**was**_ beautiful, no question, and he knew he'd been correct - or rather, the little voice inside his mind had been correct - in suggesting that he choose here, where he could rest, yes, but he could also help. He had spoken briefly with Senator Palpatine before leaving Coruscant - the Senator himself was also planning to return to Naboo to aid his people with rebuilding after the wreckage left by the Trade Federation's brief occupation. Qui-Gon had pledged to help the Nubians in any way possible, feeling, perhaps, a little sting of guilt that he had been unable to protect their queen.

Palpatine had been warmly grateful for Qui-Gon's help; the senator had always shown kindness to the JedI, displaying an interest in their comings and goings. He had even politely asked Qui-Gon if his Padawan would be accompanying him, and expressed deep regret when he learned that Qui-Gon would be making the trip alone. Qui-Gon, too, keenly felt the emptiness of not having a Padawan by his side.

Of not having Obi-Wan with him.

Things should have been different. Qui-Gon would have given his life to have Obi-Wan, whole and healthy, here with him now. Obi-Wan wasn't meant to be a farmer.

He wanted to brush the thoughts aside, tried to, but they were crowding against him and he couldn't fight them. All of the unacknowledged emotion inside him was building, cresting, trying to take him down -

A rustling noise from the small ship behind him caught his attention and he turned, surprised but grateful for the sudden interruption, and somehow, inexplicably, tears sprang into his eyes as he saw Delian make her way down the ramp, gingerly guiding - without actually touching - a pale Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"They really need bigger closets on these ships," Delian complained irritably.

And Qui-Gon thanked the Force for giving a foolish old JedI another chance.

OOOOOOOOOO

Anakin Skywalker was deeply ensconced within the Temple, unreachable for now, but that mattered little to Palpatine.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was on Naboo. Delightful, delicious, powerful Obi-Wan Kenobi was right here on his very doorstep.

Soon to be his apprentice.

And a cowed galaxy would fall before them.

ooo The End ooo

And at 12:33pm on Monday, August 29, 2011, Syn quietly finished a story she'd been working on for over ten years. Please review if this story has entertained, amused, or even made you love/hate a character just a little bit more at any time in the last ten years.

To the amazing readers who have stuck this out for so long, and to new readers: your comments and encouragement have kept this story going on when I might have given up on it long ago. Thank you. Thanks also for all the positive feedback on Delian; OC's can have a tough time escaping the Mary Sue stigma that automatically surrounds them, and I hope Delian has succeeded in being her own character. (It helps that George Lucas gave us multiple characters in the prequels that were _**already**_ annoying; anyone else looks amazing by comparison.) _Through Glass_ is by Stonesour.

I'm posting cleaned up, possibly slightly edited versions of all chapters along with the final chapter. Enjoy, and the sequel will be posted as soon as I wrap up my other unfinished fics. Or at least some of them… ;) Now! Go review!


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